


Carbon Copy

by sarahyellow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BUCKY DOES NOT REALLY DIE FOLKS, Clone T.J. Hammond, Clones, Domestic Avengers, Ethical Dilemmas, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks, Temporary Character Death, Threesome - M/M/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, civilian Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2020-07-28 03:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20057623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: When Steve Rogers first finds out about his late husband's clone, he wants nothing to do with him. T.J. has the same smile, the same eyes, is just a sore reminder of what Steve's lost. But slowly, Steve starts to fall for him.Before he can spend too much time worrying how messed upthatis, Bucky waltzes back into Steve's life, apparently never having been dead at all.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little explaining, which I don't normally like to do but will do this time b/c this fic is hella confusing without background, I think: 
> 
> Each chapter has 2 parts-a scene from the past and a scene from the present.
> 
> The past: pre-serum Steve is involved with Avenger/Winter Soldier Bucky. Steve eventually gets the serum but remains a civilian.
> 
> The present: Bucky is, erm, not there right now. Steve is big, a civilian, and Bucky's clone shows up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May, 2012--The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan
> 
> July, 2019--Bucky Barnes' apartment, 41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

May, 2012

Steve walks slowly backward in front of his group, leading them through the newest exhibit of the African Arts wing. He lifts his arm, one skinny wrist peeking out from his suit jacket as he points to the side. He’s borrowed his roommate’s fancy jacket, having wanted to make a good impression on his first day of work as a docent at the Met. The jacket’s a little big on him but, oh well. “Um, on your left you’ll see a collection of fifteenth century tribal masks and weapons. They’re all Wakandan in origin, and have only recently been revealed to be made almost entirely of the rare metal vibrani—” 

His speech is cut off by a sudden commotion in the next room. Shouting sounds from around the corner, which is the first thing that catches Steve’s attention. He furrows his brow in concern. This is the Metropolitan Museum of Art; nobody ever shouts. Steve holds up a hand to get the group of people he’s leading around to stop. “Hang on folks,” he says, voice low. He tilts his head to try and hear what’s going on.

“Hey little man, can we keep up the pace of this tour? Some of us have places we gotta be after—”

“_Shh_!” Steve says. Around the corner, the shouting gets louder and it becomes clear what’s being said. Men are yelling for people to _Get on the ground! Get on the ground!_ There’s the sound of glass breaking. Steve blanches. He whips his head back to his tour group. “Get to the stairwell!” he tells them. He points to the opposite end of the room where there’s a nondescript door with a red exit sign above it. “That way, go!” Everyone in his group looks around in confusion and indecision, not enough of them going in the direction Steve’s indicated. “Come on! _Go_!” Steve urges again. Finally, everybody seems to process what’s happening and they all hurry towards the emergency exit. 

The last few people are shuffling through the door when the men round the corner. There’re all dressed in black tactical gear like bad guys from the movies, and they’re all holding guns. Steve freezes in his path towards the exit. A quick glance shows the last of his tour group going into the exit stairwell, the door swinging shut behind them. Steve gulps. He can’t go. He needs to stay behind and give the others a chance of escaping. Firming his resolve, he turns his back to the exit. He hurls himself in the opposite direction to where there’s a fire alarm on the wall. The gunmen don’t realize what he’s doing in time and he’s got the alarm pulled and blaring before they can stop him.

“Oy!” The lead gunman shouts, looking at Steve furiously. He points his weapon straight at Steve, baring his teeth with a growl. He’s got a gold tooth. “Shouldn’t a done that mate.” He’s got an Afrikaans accent. “Gonna have to kill you now.”

“Klaw,” One of the other mercs says, “We agreed no killing. Let’s just get the stuff and go.”

“This one’s gotten on my nerves,” the man—_Klaw_ apparently—snaps back. He re-sights down his pistol at Steve. Steve gulps. To either side of him, the other mercs are smashing into the glass display cases and removing the artifacts. Steve sees that he’s standing right next to a case that’s full of some of the Wakandan war weapons. He doesn’t even think, just smashes the glass with his elbow—pain flares through his arm but he ignores it—and grabs the cowhide shield out of the case. He gets it in front of his face just in time, and when the bullet from Klaw’s gun hits him, he barely feels the impact. 

Steve peeks around the edge of the shield. Klaw is sprawled on the ground, the bullet having apparently rebounded at him. He’s got a hand clapped to his thigh and he’s cursing loudly. “Fucking hell!”

Steve glances at the shield he’s still holding, eyes wide. The cowhide has a hole in it from the bullet now, and underneath, unscathed metal peeks through. The shield is made of vibranium, Steve remembers with relief. It’s good news. He hadn’t actively been thinking of that when he’d grabbed it out of the case. He’d just been acting on instinct. His shoulders sag in relief. Plain old cowhide wouldn’t have done much to protect him from a bullet.

“Give me that!” The shield is yanked from Steve’s hands. Another merc has his gun pointed at Steve’s head. He shoves the shield back for another of the men to hold. “Get on the ground, ya little punk,” he growls. Steve frowns heavily but he can realize when he’s beaten. He slowly lowers himself down to a sitting position, glaring the whole time.

“You’re not getting out of here with this stuff,” he tells the man. The building’s alarms are blaring, and Steve knows the cops are undoubtedly already on their way. 

From his spot on the floor, Klaw gives a manic sort of laugh. “Just you wait,” he says excitedly. “There’s gonna be a—” A huge, distant _boom_ sounds, drawing everyone’s attention. It sounds like a bomb’s gone off at least a block away. Klaw whoops in excitement. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Come on boss.” One of the other mercs is hoisting Klaw back up to standing. “Gotta get out of here before they realize it’s a decoy.” Klaw’s still laughing manically but he does nod and hop along with the man’s assistance. 

“What about the shrimp?” 

Steve flinches where the gun is waved right in his face.

“Shoot him,” Klaw says without concern. “Don’t need hostages today.” He waves his hand and all the other men start hurrying out of the room with the artifacts in hand. 

Steve tenses, moving to get up and do… something. “Hey!” he shouts. “Stop! You can’t just take—”

The sound of a gun going off makes Steve flinch and squeeze his eyes shut. White hot pain sears through his shoulder and when he looks down he can see that the bullet’s gotten him on his shoulder. “Ah!” He glares a the man with the gun. His eyes catch on a fallen artifact—a club sort of thing. Steve growls and lunges for it, fingers closing around the handle. With any luck this thing’ll be made from vibranium too and—

“You just don’t know when to give up, do ya?” The merc hits Steve in the face with the gun. The club goes sliding across the floor, out of reach. “_Do_ ya?!”

Steve spits blood and glares. “I could do this all day.”

“That’s cute but I ain’t got all day.” The man raises the gun again, this time with the barrel almost point-blank against Steve’s forehead. Steve squeezes his eyes shut in apprehension. 

But the gun never goes off. Instead, there’s a grunt, a mechanical ‘whir’ sort of noise, and then the sound of bone cracking. Steve peeks his eyes open. There’s a man holding the merc’s neck at an unnatural angle, broken. He’s got a metal arm, and Steve gapes. “Who’re you?”

The man growls, tosses the dead merc to the ground at Steve’s feet, and takes off to tackle another bad guy on the other side of the room. It doesn’t take the mystery man long to singlehandedly dispatch over a half dozen people, and Steve is left clutching his arm and watching the scene go down with a sense of surrealism.

Who _is_ this guy?

.oOo.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up from where he’s being treated in the back of the ambulance. “Oh!” He can’t help the way his stomach swoops at the sight of the man with the metal arm. His hero. Well, his dark, metal-armed, scary sort of hero. But still… “Hey.”

The guy smiles a little. It looks unnatural on his face, as if he isn’t used to doing it (Scary Hero). “You going to be okay?” he asks.

Steve shrugs, then winces at the way it makes the pain of the wound in his shoulder flare back to life. “Yeah. Bullet just grazed me.”

“Oh. Good.” The man nods and shuffles awkwardly in place. He’s got his metal hand stuffed in his pocket. “That’s good.”

“Would’ve been another story if you hadn’t showed up,” Steve says. He peeks back up at the guy. “You really saved my butt.”

Scary Hero blushes. It’s kind of adorable. “Just doing my job.”

“…Who are you?” Steve asks.

“I’m Bucky.” He holds out his hand—the flesh one—for Steve to shake. “I work for an organization called Shield.”

“I see.”

Bucky stands there for a minute, not saying anything and looking kind of constipated (Scary hero). “Um, well I guess I’ll leave you to get fixed up.” He gestures to the paramedic who’s applying gauze to Steve’s shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He makes to turn away, but Steve surprises himself by calling out, “Hey, wait.” Bucky whips back around, looking intrigued. “Um…” suddenly, Steve’s shy. “Do you like coffee?”

Bucky frowns. “Do I like…”

“That is, I mean… Would you um, maybe want to get coffee or something? With me? Just as a way for me to say thank you. You know, for saving my life and all.” Steve regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. He’s about to ask the medic to just stop treating his wounds so they can get infected and he can die, but then Bucky is grinning at him like he’s said something especially nice. This time the smile looks natural.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “Yeah I’d like that.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

July, 2019

CNN anchor: “This just in: Formerly classified S.H.I.E.L.D documents, released by the operative Black Widow after the fall of the Triskelion two years ago, have just revealed that _Genocorp_, the pharmaceutical and genetic research conglomerate that is a subsidiary of Stark Industries, has been running a secret cloning program with live subjects. The news is provoking outrage and disbelief among the American public and within the government as well as the international scientific community. With us here to discuss the ramifications of these findings are FDA assistant deputy director Doctor Karen Gleeson and criminal defense attorney and CNN legal contributor John Debrau. Karen, John, thank you for joining us.”

John: “Thank you.”

Karen: “Good to be here.”

CNN anchor: “So let’s get right down to it. What are the legal ramifications of this program being in existence, John? _Is_ it legal?”

John: “Based on the information we’re seeing coming out, definitely not. This program was being conducted without knowledge or permission from any government health agency, as I’m sure Karen can tell you. They were cloning human subjects, and as we’re just finding out these were live, fully cognizant individuals. Many were adults.”

CNN anchor: “Actual people?”

John: “Yes.”

CNN anchor: “Karen, what can you tell us about this secret program? Did the FDA have any knowledge of what Genocorp was doing?”

Karen: “No Brooke. The program that these newly-released documents refer to as _Project Copycat_ was never submitted for any level of approval to the FDA or any other government agency. There was no oversight whatsoever.”

CNN anchor: “Correct me if I’m wrong Doctor, but hasn’t Genocorp conducted well-known cloning research in the past?”

John: “Yes but—”

Karen: “Indeed but those studies were approved and transparent. And legal. They only dealt with the cloning of human tissue; cell clusters, organs. Certainly not anything even close to the scale that we’re seeing here. This is unprecedented. These are live human subjects that were cloned.”

CNN anchor: “It’s being reported that the facility that housed this "Project Copycat" was a sort of underground compound, and that Genocorp was keeping these human clones there against their will. What sorts of charges are the responsible parties at Genocorp looking at?”

John: “This really is an unprecedented situation Brooke. Federal prosecutors will likely have their pick of what charges to bring. We could see anything from Human Trafficking charges to Slavery to Kidnapping or False imprisonment charges. The possibilities are endless.”

CNN anchor: “The argument’s been made that Genocorp may try to make claims of proprietary ownership. Is this a possibility?”

John: “That idea should be laughable but it may be their only choice if they want to mount a legal defense.”

CNN anchor: “Karen?”

Karen: “It’s ridiculous. The situation these clones found themselves in was tantamount to the human experimentation that took place under Nazi Germany. The efforts that will have to be put forth to liberate and rehabilitate these individuals is going to be huge. In my opinion this will be the end of Genocorp as a whole.”

CNN anchor: “That’s saying a lot. Genocorp is the world’s leading pharmaceuticals manufacturer, as well as a leader in cancer research. John, what about Stark Industries? As the owner of Genocorp are they responsible for any of this?”

John: “Legally they could definitely be culpable. They are most certainly going to have to answer for this.”

CNN anchor: “Well there you have it. Karen, John, I want to thank you both for being with us here tonight. Up next: numerous questions still remain as to the reality of just what was going on behind closed doors at Genocorp’s secret facility in the Mojave Desert. After the break we’ll have further discussion on what living conditions were like for the unwilling subjects of Project Copycat, and what they may face in the days ahead.”

.oOo.

**lauren drell** _@drelly_  
This is totally insane. What is the world coming to??! Thank God for Black Widow releasing those documents. _#Clonegate_

**Sam Murphey** _@HeySamantha_  
_@drelly_ For all we know Black Widow was in on it. They’re saying people at Shield excuse me HYDRA all had clones in that facility. She’s probably got a clone of her own!

**Emily Branowitz** _@Brealnowitz_  
I’d pay money to be the one to get to keep the Winter Soldier’s clone. _#assassin!sexslave #sorrynotsorry_

**David Li** _@Ligetsit_  
_@Brealnowitz_ You’re sick. Have some respect for the dead.

.oOo.

Somewhere around midnight on July fifth Steve goes to bed in his apartment on the forty-first floor of Avenger’s Tower, giving the unused pillow next to him a light kiss like he has done for the past two years. It’s a silly ritual that he hasn’t been able to make himself give up, but at least he doesn’t cry about going to sleep alone anymore. His second birthday without Bucky hadn’t been nearly as hard as the first.

He wakes up the next morning to the sound of Jarvis overriding his alarm, telling him that everyone has been asked to assemble in the conference room downstairs. When Steve gets dressed and gets down there he’s expecting muffins and a mission debrief (ever since Bucky’s death he’s become somewhat of an extended houseguest and he gets to at least hear about all of the crazy missions they go on). Tony calls him an honorary Avenger.

Instead what he walks in on is a room full of somber-faced superheroes. Pepper looks like she hasn’t slept, if the circles under her eyes are anything to go by, and she’s got the room’s tv turned on to the national news, where headlines flash with the words “Genocorp” and “Stark Industries” and “cloning program.” Pepper’s eyes find Steve where he’s standing in the doorway and she gestures to the chair next to Natasha’s. “Steve,” she tells him, “you’re going to want to sit down.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May, 2012--41st floor common room, Avengers Tower, Manhattan
> 
> July, 2019--29th floor conference room, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

May, 2012

Steve shows up at Avengers tower and waits at the front desk for security to page someone important enough to give clearance for him to come up. Steve isn’t leaving until someone lets him up. He has to see Bucky.

Their second date hadn’t gone… well. 

The first had been amazing. Bucky had met him for coffee and they hadn’t been able to stop talking. They weren’t the same at all, but Steve found that he loved Bucky’s personality—even the stilted, awkward parts. And Bucky seemed very taken with him. Steve felt a connection that had him grinning from ear to ear the entire time. They’d walked aimlessly for an hour afterwards, making their way to central park and getting lost for long enough that a sudden summer downpour had them taking shelter under the Pinebank bridge. Bucky had kissed him. His wet hair dripped on Steve, and it was like a movie. 

They’d parted with plans for another date, which they’d had, and which hadn’t gone well.

Bucky had freaked out when a car backfired on the street outside, immediately followed by one of the restaurant workers dropping a whole tray of silverware in the kitchen. Bucky had moved lightening-fast, shoving Steve behind him, grabbing his steak knife and nearly attacking their poor server. 

After, when a horrified Bucky had apologized and looked like he wanted to sink through the booth and straight down into hell, Steve had gently asked for an explanation. Bucky had only remained for long enough to give one—he had a past—before he’d fled. Steve was sure Bucky hadn’t meant to stick him with the very expensive bill, but he had.

Steve’s texts and calls since that day have gone unanswered. He knows he could give up, could give Bucky the quick and clean ending that he’s so obviously trying for, but Steve really likes Bucky, and he’s got a feeling that Bucky likes him just as much. Steve remembers how they’d connected on that first date, damnit, and he knows that’s not something that just happens every other Tuesday. So no, Steve’s not giving up so easily. 

Somebody eventually gives permission for Steve to go up, and he’s given a plastic elevator card to get him up to the forty-first floor of the tower. The doors slide open and Steve is surprised to find a rather homey room facing him. He steps out. There’s a kitchen and a large living room that’s dominated by a big sectional couch. One huge flat screen television is playing a sports game and the other (equally huge) one has a first-person shooter game going. Steve stiffens as several people turn to look his way.

That’s Tony Stark.

And the Black Widow.

And Falcon, Hulk, Scarlet Witch, War Machine. Hawkeye and Rocket, playing freaking _Call of Duty_. Of course Steve knows them, anybody living in New York the past five years does. _These are the people who save the world_, Steve thinks. He’d… done a portrait series on them freshman year. Seeing them all in the flesh is surreal, to say the least. Steve raises a hand and gives a little wave. “Hi. I’m um, I’m here to see Bucky?”

_Winter Soldier_, his brain corrects. Steve has known since before their first date, of course. Bucky had been open about it. But Steve hasn’t really thought about it until now because Bucky just seems so normal in person. Well okay, not _normal_ per se, but at least Bucky’s version of normal. Standing here in Stark tower, seeing most of the Avengers team lounging around a living room, Steve is smacked in the face by the reality that Bucky isn’t just an emotionally-guarded sweetheart with PTSD; he’s the Winter Soldier, a superhero, a celebrity.

Steve gulps. “Um… is he here?”

Black Widow gets up and leaves the room without a word, which of course makes Steve feel bad. Romanov’s portrait was what’d gotten Steve an _A+_ on the series, and she doesn’t even like him?

Stark is the one who speaks. “So _you’re_ Barnes’ mystery guy.”

“Um…”

“Don’t do it, Tony,” Hawkeye says, though it’s deadpan and he doesn’t look away from the game. “He’s just here to see Barnes.”

Stark doesn’t listen. “You sure are small. I wouldn’t have pegged him as the twink type, would you Wilson?”

“Man, I don’t think about that kinda stuff.”

“Course you don’t.” Tony rolls his eyes and looks assessingly at Steve. “How old are you kid? I know Buckaroo is from another time, but I’ll get him up to date on the age of consent if needed.”

Steve squints. “What? …I’m twenty-six.”

“No kidding? Huh. Kay. Well what’ve you done to break our poor little comrade’s heart, then? He’s been moping around here since Saturday. Broken some very expensive gym equipment, too.”

Steve frowns. “What are you talking about? Bucky’s…” _He’s been moping?_ “He’s been ignoring my texts,” Steve says. “I want to see him.”

It then that Black Widow reappears, Bucky at her side. Steve brightens, insides doing a swoop just at seeing him again. “Bucky,” he says. “Hi.”

Bucky frowns at him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can I… can I talk to you? In private?”

Bucky stares at him for a long minute, then nods. “Come on.” He turns and Steve starts following him.

“Hang on now, I’ve got more questions.”

“Sorry Tony.”

-

In Bucky’s room, Steve is once again faced by Bucky’s emotionless stare. He gulps, trying to muster the courage to confront him. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?” he asks.

Bucky winces. “I did text you. I told you this isn’t going to work.”

Steve huffs. “Sending me one cryptic text and nothing else after that isn’t okay, Bucky. You totally ghosted me.”

Bucky frowns. “What’s ghosting?”

_God_, Steve can’t help the way his heart warms at Bucky’s ignorance. He fights back the smile that wants to come. “It’s when an asshole like you just drops off the radar,” he says. He squares his shoulders. “I want to date you.”

“Tried that.” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Didn’t work.”

“It _did_ work, Bucky. Just because—”

“You saw how I flipped out,” Bucky snaps. “That was just a taste of how bad I can be. You don’t even know, Steve.” Bucky runs his hands through his hair, stressed. He looks down at Steve, pained. “You don’t want to be with me. I’m no good.”

“Bucky, you save the world every other weekend.”

“And that’s all I’m good for,” he snaps back. “I’m fucked up. I can’t go out in public and do stuff that normal people do. You _saw_ what happens when I try. I can’t do boyfriend things.”

Steve’s heart clenches at the way that Bucky looks when he says that; sad, dejected. He steps closer to Bucky, backing him up against the wall. “What are ‘boyfriend things’?” he asks.

Bucky’s gaze is lowered, embarrassed and not meeting Steve’s eyes as he mumbles, “You know; go out, take you places. Nice stuff.”

Steve can’t help it. He places both of his hands on Bucky’s chest and lifts up onto his toes to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. Bucky inhales sharply. Steve sinks back down and looks up at him. “I just like being with you,” he says. “That’s all I want.”

Bucky blushes, which is amazing and makes Steve feel like the most powerful guy in the world. “You deserve more,” he mumbles. “Better.”

“I deserve what I want,” Steve says, voice firm. “And I want you.” Bucky looks like he’ll argue that, so Steve reaches out and cups his jaw, makes him look straight at him. “Are you telling me I don’t deserve what I want?”

“I… _no_. I just—”

“Are you telling me I’m stupid? That I can’t figure out what I want?”

Bucky’s brow wrinkles, pained. “No. Steve I just—”

“Then stop arguing with me and just do what I say,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s jaw lightly and smiling up at him. “I want to date you, Bucky Barnes, and if all that entails is coming to Avengers tower to see you, then that’s fine with me.” He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “You got any more arguments?”

Bucky stares at him, looking conflicted but like he wants to give in. “…What if I hurt you?” he asks, voice tiny. 

Steve smiles. “Then I’ll just have to kick your ass, huh?” Bucky snorts and Steve punches him on the arm. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Bucky’s eyes shift, going from sad to interested as he looks down at Steve. “I missed you, since that night.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. They’d had a good date, up until Bucky had assaulted the server. They’d even kissed briefly, held hands. “Yeah,” Steve says. “Me too.” He reaches to tuck a strand of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “I was worried when you ran away. I didn’t know if you were okay.”

“I’m always okay. I’m strong, and I’m rich. Or well… Tony is.”

Steve huffs and shakes his head. “That’s not the kind of ‘okay’ I meant.” He places one of his hands on Bucky’s chest, just over his heart. His hand looks small against the breadth of Bucky’s body. “This,” he says. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I have a therapist,” Bucky volunteers, awkward in that way that Steve is quickly coming to love.

“That’s good,” he says. “Now how would you like a boyfriend, huh?”

Bucky’s face is blank for a second, before it splits in a grin. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah I’d like that.”

Steve takes hold of his head and pulls him down for their first, _real_ kiss. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

July, 2019

Once Pepper explains the basics of what’s happened, the whole team sits in stunned silence for a long few moments. Steve gets up out of his chair to pace, but quickly decides to sit back down. He hasn’t felt this lightheaded since before he got the serum. 

In the room’s tense silence, there’s one big sigh. Loki and Thor are visiting from New Asgard, sitting at one end of the conference table, and it’s Loki who has sighed. He says, “Well honestly I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” Slowly, everyone’s heads turn toward him. “What?” Loki protests. “It’s perfectly practical. You humans are so damned fragile, I’d have thought you’d be elated to have backup organs and such.”

Thor thunks his head down into his hand, clearly embarrassed at his brother.

“‘Backup organs’?” Sam repeats incredulously. “Man these are _people_.”

Loki shrugs. “Who were specifically cloned to provide spare body parts should you need them. Can’t you see the ingeniousness of the plan? I mean, if you lot really are as important as your governments seem to think you are.” He says this like it’s debatable, and Natasha snorts. Loki shoots her a sharp look “Oh don't pretend you’re not the least moral of this bunch,” he says.

“Look, the fact is that we all might have copies of ourselves walking around now, and we have to figure out what to do about it. Right?” Sam looks to Pepper to confirm.

She nods. “Yes, we do. I have a list here,” she thumbs over the screen of her tablet. “Of the recovered clones. Um…” her eyes shoot up apologetically at them. “Not all of the clones made it out alive. Most didn’t actually.”

“What?” Steve asks, finally speaking up. “What do you mean?”

“Genocorp… the staff at the facility where they were holding these people… they panicked when the news broke. Apparently they were given orders to cover their tracks as quickly as possible.”

Steve feels horrified at what he’s hearing. “You mean they murdered them.”

Pepper nods through a wince. “Yes.” She looks back to her tablet. “This information hasn’t reached the press yet, but they executed most of the clones.”

“Whose clones escaped the slaughter?” Natasha asks, because she’s of course sharp enough to realize that Pepper wouldn’t have brought them in here if at least some of them didn’t have surviving copies of themselves.

“Not yours,” Pepper says, and Natasha’s expression doesn’t change one bit. Steve though, he can tell that she’s satisfied. “Sam, you didn’t have one, as you weren’t part of Shield then.”

“Good. I’m fine with that,” he says sternly.

“Tony you didn’t have one either.” Tony makes some sort of indignant noise in his throat, about to say something about that, but Pepper is quick to cut him off. “Bruce, it seems they decided not to attempt to clone you.”

Bruce gets a sort of self-depreciating smirk on his face. “Too dangerous?”

“It would seem. Clint, your clone died as well. Wanda yours is still alive but she’s… well she’s loose. They can’t find her as of right now. It would seem that your powers were passed on to her and she’s been using them to keep herself hidden. Thor, Loki, well…” she shrugs. Clearly, based on the logic that Loki himself had so blithely pointed out, neither of the two near-immortals would really need ‘spare body parts’. Pepper’s eyes move to Steve, whom she regards cautiously. 

Steve straightens in alarm. “I’m not even an avenger,” he says.

“No. They didn’t clone you.”

Steve relaxes. “Oh. Good.”

“They um, they cloned Bucky.”

Steve goes cold, feels the blood drain from his face. In his head, all he can think is, _no, it’s not possible_. Even though it really is. “Bucky?” he says numbly. 

“Yeah.” Pepper is looking at him softly. Natasha is looking at him very observantly. Everyone at the table is staring at him actually, and Steve swallows, not knowing what to say under such scrutiny. 

“He wouldn’t have liked that,” he winds up saying. “Did um… is it alive?” He instantly feels guilty for using the pronoun ‘it’, but he doesn’t speak up to correct himself.

“Yes,” Pepper says quietly. “He was one of the few who did survive the massacre.”

If Steve feels disappointed at that, he will never ever admit it. Natasha, he thinks though, can definitely tell how deeply this news affects him. _So_, he thinks numbly, this means there’s a copy of Bucky walking around out there somewhere. The idea is crazy. “Where is…” he clears his throat. “Where is he?”

“All the recovered clones have been taken to,” Pepper regards her tablet, “Adult Protective Services. The department’s building is in midtown. It says here they haven’t been able to place most of them yet. Apparently they don’t know what to do with them. Some are being released into the custody of their respective…” she pauses, not knowing what term to use, “um, their genetic counterparts.”

Everyone’s quiet at this news, not knowing what to say. Steve gathers the courage to ask, “So what are they going to do with Bucky’s?”

Pepper looks helpless to answer his question, but even as her mouth opens to say something comforting, Tony blurts out, “Wait, is no one going to bring up the fact that I’m apparently not important enough to clone?”

.oOo.

The next day, the news breaks that many of the Avengers’ DNA had been part of Genocorp’s cloning program, and the media reaction is swift and frenzied. Pepper makes it very clear to them all that they’re going to have to give a press conference and that nobody’s absence will be tolerated. Even Steve is expected to attend, and he’s dreading it.

They assemble in the lobby of Avenger’s Tower. Like press conferences before (none of which Steve—a civilian—had ever been required to be a part of) a low stage has been put out, and a long table with chairs for them all to sit behind. Pepper takes the middle seat and they all arrange themselves on either side of her as the reporters crowding the lobby immediately start talking and snapping their cameras. Steve takes a seat at the very far end of the table. As the civilian husband of the late Winter Soldier, nobody really knows who he is anyway, and he’s hopeful that he won’t be asked any questions.

The cameras continue clicking, the sounds of the shutters more annoying than they should be. Pepper just sits there and waits for the chatter and rush of shouted questions to die down before she gives a tight-lipped smile and nods at the room as a whole. “Thank you for coming,” she says. “We’re holding this press conference because the Avengers team, like everyone else, is shocked by the actions of Genocorp. And as has been made public knowledge, the team has been more deeply affected than most. We’re here today to answer questions—in a controlled and considerate manner,” she adds sternly, “About Genocorp’s crimes and our knowledge of them.”

The room erupts into loud, obnoxious questions once again, one reporter’s words indistinguishable from the next. Again, Pepper remains composed and waits for it all to die down, and Steve is in awe of her. Pepper nods to a female reporter just in front of their table. “Yes?”

“What is Stark Industries’ response to the scandal?” she asks. “Will your company be taking any responsibility for Project Copycat?”

Pepper’s lips thin but she answers calmly, “What our subsidiary Genocorp has done is an outrage. They have committed heinous crimes against innocent people—the clones created by their program—and no one at Stark Industries ever approved these actions. Project Copycat, as they’re calling it, was a crime committed without anyone at Stark Industry’s knowledge and it represents a serious breach of security. The fact that something like this was done under our watch is unacceptable and we will be conducting an overhaul of security procedures and restructuring all of our oversight protocols. Action has to be taken to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Of course it goes without saying that Genocorp is no longer in business with Stark Industries.”

It’s an impressive speech and Steve feels admiration for Pepper all over again. The reporters, however, don’t seem satisfied. A new barrage of questions emerges, and once she gets the chance Pepper nods to another reporter to speak up.

“What is Stark Industries’ position on the remaining clones? Do the Avengers have clones of themselves?”

“The cloned individuals are human beings who are going to require extensive assistance in integrating themselves to our world,” Pepper says right away. “Stark Industries has no relationship with these individuals. New York City social services are, to our knowledge, assisting the victims.”

“Do the Avengers have clones walking around? Is it safe?”

Steve can see how Pepper’s features harden minutely, though he doubts she looks much different to the reporters. “Though it is quite private, all of the Avengers team has agreed to transparency in this matter. We have been made aware that Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff and Sergeant James Barnes all had their DNA submitted to the cloning program. All without their knowledge or consent.” Questions erupt in a flurry of shouts and exclamations louder than before, and Pepper has to wait while two Stark security personnel step forward on the stage and use gestures to calm the crowd. Once everyone shuts up, Pepper says, “Ms. Romanoff’s and Mr. Barton’s clones were murdered by Genocorp staff upon discovery of the program. Miss Maximoff’s clone is at large and is most likely quite frightened by what is happening to her. Authorities are urging the public to ignore her if seen and report any encounters to the police. Sergeant Barnes’ clone is currently in the custody of New York City’s adult protective services.”

“Have you had contact with him? Will the Winter Soldier’s clone be speaking out?” 

Steve tenses and Pepper is quick to reply, “All of the surviving individuals from Genocorp’s program deserve their privacy and the Avengers and Stark Industries firmly support this. We have not contacted any of the individuals.”

Another reporter, this one a man with a reed-like frame and straw-colored hair, addresses Steve directly. “Mr. Rogers.”

Steve tenses up. He hadn’t expected to be asked any questions. He hadn’t expected anyone to even know who he was. His mouth feels dry and he has to wet his lips before saying, “Um, yes?”

“James Barnes was your husband. Do you plan on making contact with his clone?”

“I uh, I don’t… know?” Steve feels frozen where he sits. All of the cameras are pointed towards him now, and he feels incredibly self-conscious under the scrutiny. “I guess it’s up to him—um, up to the guy who’s… Bucky’s clone that is—if he wants to see me,” Steve says. “But I haven’t talked to anyone about it,” he adds hurriedly. He doesn’t want to see Bucky’s clone at all, but he doesn’t say that out loud. He doesn’t even know if the guy even knows about Steve or Bucky. Steve grips his hands tighter together where they’re folded atop the table and avoids the reporter’s stare. “I don’t know anything else,” he says tightly.

“Miss Maximoff!” another reported calls out, and begins asking her a bunch of questions. Steve only half-listens as Wanda struggles to answer the overly-invasive questions, already tuned-out from the shock and disturbance of this whole affair. He’s itching to get off stage as soon as possible, and he can’t help but be relieved when no more questions are thrown his way. Natasha, Bruce and Clint answer questions as they come at them, with Pepper interjecting when she needs to, and Tony is more than willing to make himself the center of attention besides. Steve just sits tight and waits for the whole excruciating event to be over.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November, 2012--Bucky Barnes' apartment, 41st floor, Avenger's Tower, Manhattan 
> 
> July, 2019--New York City Adult Social Services building, Manhattan

November, 2012

The lock turning over in the door makes a loud ‘click’, and Steve’s eyes open. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on Bucky’s couch. He blinks up at the ceiling once, twice, and then his eyes widen exponentially, the sound of the door opening taking on meaning in his mind. _He’s back_. He pops up and looks eagerly over the back of the couch. Bucky’s there, stepping into the apartment.He looks like shit. Like, _really_ like shit. Steve feels his stomach drop. “Aw, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes find him. He smiles a tiny bit. He looks exhausted. “Hey baby.”

Steve hurriedly gets up from the couch and goes over to him. He puts his hands on Bucky’s waist, not missing the way that he winces. “How bad are you hurt?” he asks, looking up into Bucky’s eyes. With Steve in his bare feet and Bucky in his combat boots, the height difference between them is more pronounced than usual. 

“I’ll live,” is Bucky’s answer, which Steve doesn’t like at all.

“Come on,” he says, taking Bucky’s metal hand in his and leading him back towards Bucky’s bedroom. When they get in there he turns to his boyfriend and tells him, “Strip.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raises. “I hardly step through the door and you want to jump my bones already?” He smirks. “You get lonely while I was gone?”

Steve snorts. “Take off your clothes Buck.” He doesn’t say anything about the fact that he _has_ missed the hell out of Bucky. The Avengers have been deployed in Nigeria for nearly two weeks now. Lonely and worried for his boyfriend, Steve had started sleeping over in Bucky’s apartments several days ago. Now he’s horny, sure, but even worse is his concern for Bucky’s well-being. He’s got greasy hair and blood visibly crusted on his uniform. Steve gestures for Bucky to strip. “Clothes off, now.” Bucky huffs as if put upon, but he does start removing his gear. His holsters come off first, then his jacket and vest and then his boots and his pants. He’s moving gingerly and it’s obvious he’s trying not to let it show. Steve watches it all very carefully, only half-admiring his boyfriend’s strong body when he’s scanning him for injuries like this. Bucky’s got bruising on his left thigh, just under where his underwear end. His flesh arm has a long strip of what looks like road rash on it. Steve has to grit his teeth to not say anything. “And the rest,” he says quietly.

Bucky gives him a _look_. “If you’re angling to get fresh with me doll, I gotta warn you: I stink.”

“Just take your t-shirt off,” Steve says. “I’ll help you get washed up in a minute.”

Bucky sighs but he does listen. His fingers find the hem of his tee and he lifts it up over his head. His grunt of pain as he lifts his arms over his head is muffled by the shirt, but Steve hears it. Bucky tosses the shirt aside and meets Steve’s disapproving glare with one of his own. “It’s my job, Stevie.”

“Don’t you ‘Stevie’ me.” Steve gets up and goes over, hands already raised to touch gingerly at where Bucky’s clearly been shot in his abdomen. “Christ, Buck.”

“S’already healing, see?”

“When did this happen?” Steve asks, because he knows that even Bucky can’t mostly-heal a bullet wound in just a day.

“…Last week.”

“And you _stayed_?” Steve astounds. “You _stayed_ and you kept fighting?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky grits, annoyed tone made more severe by the fact that Steve’s hands are running over his torso in a search for more injuries. He’s covered in bruises and some minor cuts, but Steve doesn’t come up with any more severe wounds. Bucky smirks in satisfaction when the smaller man doesn’t have anything else to scold him for. “You see?” he says. He takes Steve’s face in his hands. There’s a pinch between Steve’s eyebrows that’s cute but that he wants gone. He brushes over that worried furrow with his thumb. “Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he murmurs. “Hate seeing you upset.”

“You should look after yourself better then,” Steve grumps, but it’s only half as serious as it had been a moment before. This is only the third mission Bucky’s been on since the two of them started dating, but it’s already hard for Steve to bear. His feelings for his Scary Hero boyfriend are quickly growing, and he doesn’t really know how to express that besides saying, “I love you,” or else scolding the hell out of Bucky when he gets hurt. So far, he’s stuck with the scolding. “Hate worrying about you,” he mumbles, not oblivious to the sweet look that Bucky’s giving him.

“Come and get in the shower with me?” Steve looks like he’s going to protest, but Bucky surges forward and kisses him sweetly. When he pulls back, the furrow has left Steve’s face. “Help me get clean, yeah?” he says. He takes Steve’s hand in his own and starts leading him toward the bathroom. 

-

In the steamy enclosure of Bucky’s shower, Steve peels Bucky’s soaked briefs off of him. He’s soft underneath his underwear, but Steve’s breath still catches at the sight of him. “See something you like?” Bucky jokes.

Steve scowls to hide his embarrassment at being caught staring. “Turn around,” he says firmly. “Want to see your back.”

Bucky turns obediently. His back has more bruises across it, but nothing that makes Steve feel like he has to verbally complain. Instead of saying anything he steps closer and places his hands on Bucky’s hips. He leans in and starts placing kisses against the skin of Bucky’s back. It’s slick from the water, warm. He lingers on the spots that are dark and mottled. He imagines the hits that Bucky must’ve taken from enemy operatives to give him bruises like this. His boyfriend doesn’t bruise easily, Steve knows. Not like Steve does, not when Bucky’s got the serum running through his body. Bucky’s strong where Steve is weak. It’s reassuring usually—a promise that Steve can trust Bucky will be okay no matter what. Only lately, after missions like this and with Steve’s feelings for him growing to boot, the promise doesn’t seem as solid as it used to. Steve can’t help but to worry and scold the man he’s secretly coming to love.

Steve runs his hands all along the skin of Bucky’s back, over the smooth planes and amazing muscles. Sometimes he has a hard time believing that Bucky’s actually ninety-five years old, even though he’s _seen_ the documentation to prove it. Bucky still has the body of a thirty-year-old, for Christ’s sake. Steve reaches up and pulls the tie out of Bucky’s hair, watching it fall down to cover his nape. “Hand me the soap,” he says lightly.

Bucky grabs the bar of soap. He turns in Steve’s arms and smiles down at him. “You gonna give me a rubdown, Rogers?”

“Hmph.” Steve takes the bar from him, rolls it around in his hand and once he’s got enough lather built up gives it back to Bucky for safekeeping. He brings his hands up to rub over Bucky’s chest. He’s broad there, about twice as wide and a million times bulkier than Steve’s own skinny chicken frame. Steve loves it. He runs his hands over Bucky’s pecs, ghosting his palms over his nipples and down farther, over the flat planes of his abs. Bucky’s breathing has sped up. Steve can tell by the way his stomach raises and lowers. Bucky’s excited at the touch and that gets Steve excited, pushes the angry concern for Bucky’s wellbeing from his mind. He skims his fingers lower still, trails them over the soft hairs that start below Bucky’s navel and lead to his pubes, which lead to... 

He’s hard—not very, but he’s firming against his thigh and Steve’s fingers itch to get on him. Steve’s eyes flick back up to Bucky’s face, searching. “Can I?” he breathes.

Bucky chuckles as if Steve’s said something funny. “Don’t gotta ask me,” he says. His voice is a low murmur, aroused. Steve leans forward, tipping up on his toes to connect their mouths and give Bucky a long kiss. Bucky’s hands find his jaw and his tongue is quick to slide into Steve’s mouth. Steve moans. His own hips jerk forward, cock taking interest. When Bucky parts from the kiss, his eyes are dark. “Gonna get on your knees for me, baby?”

Steve makes some noise of approval and sinks down. 

Bucky’s cock is long and thick and uncut. Before Bucky, Steve had never been with an intact guy. It’s been an education, and he’s fairly certain he’s developed a preference for it. His fingers wrap around Bucky’s base and draw upwards, forcing the skin to gather over the head. Above him, Bucky exhales shakily. Steve glances up at him. Bucky’s face is slack with want. Steve absolutely loves that look on Bucky’s face, is continually amazed that he, skinny, sickly Steve Rogers, is the one who puts it there. He tightens his hand and fists back down, watching the way Bucky’s foreskin thins and draws down to reveal the slick, pink head beneath. Steve breathes out against it like he’s found a treasure.

“You going to put your mouth on it Rogers? Or are you just gonna stare all day?”

Steve pinches Bucky’s inner thigh in retaliation, but it only earns him a laugh. He opens his mouth and sinks down. As soon as he’s got Bucky enveloped in him, he hears Bucky hiss above him and feels both his hands thread through his hair, gripping his head. Steve groans through his mouthful—and it _is_ a mouthful. Bucky’s hot and thick and wonderful against his tongue and Steve loves how overwhelming it feels when he’s sucking him like this. The way that he’s full of Bucky—his shape, his scent. He’s full of him and he can’t escape him. 

He uses one hand to pull on the shaft, moving up and down in rhythm with the wet suction of his mouth. He runs the other over Bucky’s hip, over the side of his butt. He can feel the way the muscles there clench and bunch as Bucky squeezes his ass in an effort not to thrust. His hips shudder from time to time but he’s doing a decent job of holding himself still. The thought that he’s feeling so good that his body almost loses control gets Steve all sorts of hot. He loves Bucky when he’s out of control. One day, he’ll convince his boyfriend that he’s not too fragile for Bucky to fuck his face, to shove him down on the bed, hold him down with his metal hand around his throat and just _take_ him. The fantasy brings another groan out of him. Between Steve’s legs, his own cock is hardening against his thigh.

“God, Steve,” Bucky slurs above him. “So good at this Doll. Sweetheart, so good for me.”

Steve hums He loves it when Bucky calls him all his silly pet names from the forties. It makes Steve feel special, makes him feel significant, like maybe Bucky loves him too. He sucks harder at the head, letting his mouth draw off the crown in rough, insistent pulls. He knows it gets Bucky off, and sure enough Bucky’s hands tighten in his hair, his moans get louder.

“Stevie, fuck. _Fuck_.”

Steve surges in harder, working faster, his jaw aching but not wanting to stop until he gets Bucky off, until he can feel Bucky’s come, salty and bitter against his tongue. He brings his hand off Bucky’s hip and cups his balls with it, rubbing and rolling them in his palm.

“Christ Steve, so close. M’close. Oh, _God_. F-fuuck.” Seconds later Bucky’s hips still and he comes in hot, drawn out pulses against Steve’s tongue. Steve swallows it down as best he can, but a little still leaks out the corner of his mouth. When he finally lets Bucky’s cock slip from between his lips and glances up, he’s blown away by the look of utter adoration on Bucky’s features. “Shit baby,” he huffs, still regaining his breath. He stoops and grabs Steve by his shoulders to pull him up. He presses Steve into the wall of the shower. The tile is cold behind Steve’s back but he ignores it. Bucky’s on him in record time, slotting their mouths together in a messy kiss. He doesn’t seem to care that Steve’s just been sucking on his cock and has his come in his mouth, in fact, he licks into him like he’s trying to get a taste of himself. He sucks at the corner of Steve’s mouth where some of it had leaked out. “So damned good at that Steve,” he tells him once he’s got his forehead resting against Steve’s hair and his hand around his cock. “Want to make you feel good too.”

“Bucky, uh,”

“Love watching you suck me off. You’re so pretty. So sexy. Missed you so much.” Bucky murmurs an unending slew of sweet and filthy words for Steve to soak in as he jerks him off in his fist, tight and wet and perfect. It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach his peak, and when he spills over Bucky’s fingers, it’s with a sob.

“Shh,” Bucky soothes, hand releasing him and coming up to pet at the skin of his neck. “You’re good Stevie. You’re so good.” He’s quiet then. They both are, just breathing against each other and feeling the warm water spray around them and wash away their come. It’s calm, peaceful. It makes Steve not ever want to move. Bucky’s supporting his tired body against the wall—ridiculous really, when he’s the one who’s just returned from battle. But it’s nice for Steve and it must be for Bucky too because he just lingers there like that, placing kisses Steve can barely feel against his soaked hair. It takes a long while but eventually Bucky pulls back. His eyes are still warm on Steve’s. “Will you towel me off?” he asks, voice full of affection.

“Yeah Buck,” Steve murmurs. He steps forward, gets up on his toes to peck another kiss to Bucky’s lips, then takes his metal hand and leads him from the shower and out to the bathroom beyond.

-

In Bucky's bed, Steve’s had Bucky lay down on his back so that he can further examine his body. “No exit wound?” he asks quietly as he runs a finger near the bullet wound. It’s almost healed but Steve doesn’t have to let that soften his countenance as he looks at it. He glares at it as if it’s personally insulted him.

“No,” Bucky answers. He’s watching Steve carefully, probably wondering if he’s still grumpy at him. “Natasha had to dig it out,” he says. “It healed within hours after that.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Bucky nods. “I was never in any real danger, Steve.”

“Hmph.” It’s Steve’s traditional response when he doesn’t agree, but Bucky lets it lie. Steve lays himself overtop Bucky, Bucky’s large frame easily supporting Steve’s own. “Missed you, jerk,” he says.

“You too, punk.” Bucky’s metal hand comes up and traces up and down the knobs of Steve’s spine. “…Sorry I made you worry.”

Steve sighs. “Not your fault.” He may not like the danger Bucky has to be in for his job, but he can at least admit that it isn’t Bucky’s fault when he gets hurt. “I just can’t help worrying. I’m like your naggy housewife, I guess,” he gripes. 

Bucky’s silent for a long moment, going still. His hand has paused in its soothing pattern along Steve’s back. “Housewife, huh?” he says.

Steve puffs a breath against Bucky’s pec. “Naggy. Yeah.”

Again, Bucky’s quiet. After a beat he asks, “Would you want to be?”

“Hm? Be what?”

“…My naggy housewife,” Bucky clarifies. He’s still talking carefully, as if he’s worried about what Steve will say back.

Steve finally _gets_ it, and he props himself up to look down into his boyfriend’s eyes. “What’re you saying, Buck?”

Bucky blushes, lowers his eyelashes. “Want you to move in with me,” he admits quietly. It’s adorable.

“Oh, _Buck_—”

“Sorry,” Bucky blurts. “It’s too fast I know. S’only been six months. You’ve got Quill and the apartment and your place is closer to the college, I know. It wouldn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t have—”

Steve surges down and cuts him off with a kiss, hands cupping Bucky’s jaw. Affection for the man beneath him is surging through him, bloomed huge and overwhelming in his chest. It’s why, after he’s come up from kissing him like a fool, he doesn’t think twice before saying, “I love you,” in a rush. Bucky’s face lights up like Christmas and that’s the only thing that keeps Steve from immediately faceplanting into his chest. _Jesus Rogers, way to spill the beans._

“Steve,” Bucky is saying, drawing Steve out of his head and his panicky thoughts that he’s gone too far. “Stevie.” Bucky’s hands cup his face. “I love you too.”

_Oh_. Steve blinks down at him; his handsome, Scary Hero. “Really?” he asks.

Bucky chuckles, “Really, really.” He pulls Steve’s head down so that their foreheads can rest together; close, intimate. “Was just waiting for you to say it, you little idiot.”

“I was—” Steve licks his lips, “I was, too.”

Bucky smiles—a _Steve_ smile, the kind that doesn’t look fake on his face. “So will you? Move in with me?”

“Be your naggy housewife?” Steve teases. He feels like his heart might float away. Bucky wants to be with him all the time. Bucky _loves_ him. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll move in.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkle in the way that Steve loves. “Good.” His hands leave Steve’s face. They migrate down his body, down his sides and onto the slim width of his hips. He holds Steve’s body firmly against his own and tells him, “Kiss me.”

Steve huffs as if put-upon but does so. He loves being ordered around by Bucky. He kisses him, lips sliding over Bucky’s in almost a ghost of a kiss, before sinking deeper into it and pressing their mouths together with the full weight of the passion he feels for him. Bucky groans and opens for more, asking for Steve’s tongue inside of him. Steve obliges, taking pleasure in the quick, dirty slide of his tongue against Bucky’s own. They kiss and they kiss, Bucky’s hands sliding over Steve’s ass and Steve’s into Bucky’s hair, losing time to making out. When they part, lips spit-slick and reddened, Bucky breathes up hotly against him. “Want to go all the way, Doll?” 

It’s like some line from an old movie, and Steve tries to hold it together, but in the end he snorts and lets his head fall down onto Bucky’s shoulder. “Do you mean you want to fuck me?” he asks, voice muffled by Bucky’s skin.

Bucky huffs and flips them over, caging Steve in beneath his bulk. Steve moans and pushes against it, reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s chest against his, his thick thigh that’s between his legs. “We haven’t,” Bucky points out, “not yet.” He kisses Steve’s jaw and flicks a kitten lick there. “And we don’t have to if you don’t wanna.” He thrusts his hips down so Steve can feel the weight of him against his belly. “We can just keep on with what we’ve been doing and—”

Steve shuts him up by smashing their lips together and thrusting his own erection up against Bucky’s leg. “No,” he says, feeling breathless. “No, I want it. I want to. With you.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah?” He knows Steve’s a virgin—in that sense at least. He knows Steve’s a bottom too, even though they haven’t discussed it in so many words. “You can top,” he offers anyway, wanting to give Steve everything, even that. He doesn’t want Steve to be nervous, not ever. “If you want, you can be the one to—"

Steve shakes his head immediately, shutting him up with a kiss. “No Buck. Not like that.” He runs his hands up and down the smooth and scarred skin of Bucky’s back and enjoys the shudder he gets for it. “That’s not how we fit.”

“Aw, Steve.” Above him, Bucky looks totally gone for him. “Don’t know what I did to deserve a guy like you.”

Steve smirks. “Well you did kind of save my life.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. Yeah I did, didn’t I?”

“Mmhm.” Their noses come together, barely touching between them. “So are you gonna?” He pushes his hips up the tiniest bit in question. “Gonna make me yours?”

Bucky groans. “Yeah. Here,” he pulls back from Steve, gets up to sitting on his knees and scoots down the bed. He grabs Steve by his shins and shoves his bent legs up to his chest, bending him in half. “Hold still,” he tells him, glint in his eyes.

“What’re you—_oh!_” Steve’s eyes widen as Bucky goes down where he can’t see and starts kissing at his balls. “Bucky… _oh_, yeah.”

“Mmhm,” Bucky hums in agreement against him. He sucks Steve’s sac into his mouth, one side and then the other, rolling his balls around on his tongue and moaning like they’re candies that he loves. 

Steve grunts and swears at the feeling. “Mmm, Bucky. Fuck yeah. _…Ugh_, suck ‘em.” He grips his shins tighter, keeping his legs pulled up so Bucky can work. 

Bucky moves further down, licks a wide, messy stripe along the length of Steve’s perineum. His flesh hand slips between Steve’s legs to find his cock and rub him just under the head where he’s most sensitive. Steve cries out and Bucky soaks it up, wants to pull as many of those sounds as he can from his boyfriend. “So easy for me,” he murmurs lowly, going back to his work with his mouth. He sucks kisses into the skin of Steve’s taint and presses there with his metal knuckles, massaging and stimulating him from the outside. 

Steve groans in pleasure and frustration, canting his hips to try and get Bucky’s mouth where he wants it. It’s where he’s obviously heading, anyway. “Buck, Bucky _please_.”

Bucky teases him a bit more, returning to nuzzle his balls for a moment before moving down, down; down to the tight little pucker that is his asshole. It’s pink and hairless and Bucky’s got no idea how Steve keeps it that way, like a girl’s, but he never says anything. His Stevie is perfect for him and he doesn’t need to say anything, just needs to give him all the pleasure that he deserves. He presses a reverent kiss to Steve’s hole, the place where they’ve just agreed he’s going to bury himself. Steve’s given him permission and Bucky’s never wanted to eat him out so badly. He wants to _worship_ his little man. He covers Steve’s hole with his mouth, laving over him with his tongue and sucking. Steve _keens_ above him, loving it. Bucky pulls away the tiniest bit, just so he can tell him, “Fuck Stevie, taste so good. Got the most perfect little asshole.” Steve moans something unintelligible from above. He’s reached down to grab Bucky’s hand that’s holding his cock. “So pretty,” Bucky continues, rubbing his thumb under Steve’s cockhead in emphasis. “All of you, so perfect. Can’t wait to get inside you baby.”

“Yeah?” Steve whines. 

“Yeah.” Bucky goes back down, flicks at Steve’s hole in tiny, teasing licks just so that he can make Steve whine some more, so he can watch his asshole twitch. _Fuck_, does he ever love watching it twitch. He brings his metal hand down and sucks on the thumb, getting it wet. He puts it against Steve’s hole, pressing with just the barest amount of pressure. Steve moans at the feeling and Bucky watches as his thumb makes him part, until the very tip of it is inside of him. Oh, but it’s beautiful. “How’s that feel?” he asks.

“Ugh, good,” Steve pants. “You know it does Buck. Want more.” 

Bucky smirks and kisses the skin of Steve’s butt cheek. “I know you do baby. And I’m gonna. Just want to play with you first.” Steve groans again like it’s some kind of imposition, but Bucky just shushes him and pulls his thumb out. Steve’s hole winks at him and Bucky shoves his tongue in before it can tighten all the way back up. Steve makes a punched-out sound above him and it spurs Bucky on. He’s had his tongue in him like this before, has had fingers inside him before, but never with the knowledge that he’s going to be fucking him on the back of his mind. Knowing that, Bucky’s so much more enthusiastic in the way he eats Steve out. He fucks his tongue into him as far and as hard as he can. Steve’s body is tight, doesn’t want to let him in, but Bucky just uses his metal hand to stroke the sides of his rim and persists with sloppy, careless noises. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” Steve pants from above. He knocks Bucky’s hand away from his cock and takes over the job himself. “Fucking love your—_fuck_—your beard. It’s so… _ah_, so fucking good.” 

Bucky chuckles between his legs. He hasn’t shaved in nearly a week and he knows the scruff must be scraping Steve’s delicate skin. He lifts his head, spits a heavy glob onto his fingers and presses one, then two of them into Steve’s hole. It’s not as wet as it could be, but they’ve got lube for that. “Yeah? You like that beard burn, Sugar?” he teases as he works the fingers into him. 

Steve’s little hand is jerking his cock more than Bucky’d been doing, and his eyes are dark and lust-blown as he looks down to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he husks. “Love everything you do to me.” 

Bucky smirks. Watching Steve touch himself is one of the most erotic sights he’s ever seen, that he thinks he’ll ever see. One of these days he’s just going to make Steve sit down and touch himself, over and over, until Bucky says he can go all the way and come. As it is now, he keeps fucking his fingers into him, curling them to get Steve keening and scissoring them to stretch out his rim. “Gotta relax for me,” he murmurs, even though Steve’s already doing a fine-enough job of it. Steve’s eyes darken further at the words though and Bucky soaks up the way that he’s looking at him. “Don’t come,” he says, clearly referring to the desperate way Steve is jerking himself. “Want to feel you come when I’m inside you.” 

Steve moans and squeezes his eyes shut as if what Bucky’s said has pained him. He yanks his hand off himself, clearly not sure if he can follow Bucky’s direction otherwise. Bucky hums in approval and ducks back down to lick and suck around where he’s got his fingers inside him. After another moment of this Steve’s ass starts to rock up against him in impatient little thrusts. “Bucky,” he breathes, “Bucky come on. Come up here.” 

Bucky pulls his fingers out, lingering there so he can watch the way Steve’s asshole clenches open and shut once it’s not filled by him anymore. He gives it a kiss as if apologizing. “Gonna fill you up,” he promises it, not even sure if the words reach Steve’s ears. Above him, Steve whines impatiently, 

“_Bucky_,” 

Bucky climbs up his body, encourages him to let go of his legs where he’s had them folded so obediently. “Here,” he says, laying himself down in the cradle of Steve’s skinny legs. “M’right here baby.” 

“Mmm,” Steve says, and pulls him into a kiss. It’s harsh, and desperate, and it tells Bucky all the things that Steve’s too far gone to say. Bucky lets his fingers curl over Steve’s bicep and his hip, holding him, pulling him tighter against him. He loves how Steve isn’t afraid to kiss him after he’s been eating him out. It’s dirty and, in a strange way, it’s endearing. Steve’s so gone for him that he doesn’t care where Bucky’s mouth has been, just can’t wait to have his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth again. Bucky groans into their shared kiss and fucks his hips forward against the skin of Steve’s belly. “Gonna get in you, Sweetheart,” he murmurs against Steve’s mouth. “Can I?” 

Steve pants, his face a pinched picture of desire. He wants it, wants Bucky in him, and it’s gorgeous. “Yes,” he says, voice full of desire but now also love. His blue eyes are full of it. “Yeah, get the lube.” 

Bucky blinks, dumb for a second from how much he wants Steve. He shakes himself out of it, leans over to the night table and gets the lube, gets a condom too. He’s never used one with Steve before. Things between them have never progressed to the point of needing one. It’s with a sense of incredible intimacy that he lets Steve take it from him and rip it open, their eyes not leaving each other’s. Steve reaches down and—gently, so gently—pulls Bucky’s foreskin down. He rolls the condom over him and then Bucky takes over and finishes the task while kissing Steve. Their tongues slide together, messy and sloppy and perfect. Bucky gets some lube on his fingers and smears it over Steve’s hole, presses it in the best he can. 

Beneath him, Steve is squirming impatiently and rocking his hips up, dick smearing precome against Bucky’s belly. Bucky pulls away. “You want my fingers some more?” he asks. He has to be a good lover and ask, even though all he wants in the world is to feel Steve clenching around him. 

“No,” Steve whispers. “I want you. Please.” 

Bucky smiles, takes himself in hand and gets more lube on his cock. Steve just watches with a sense of wonder and, _oh_, Bucky can’t wait to take his virginity. It hits him again then, the fact that he’s about to be the first one to ever get to be inside Steve like this. The first to get to make him feel good like this. The thought makes Bucky’s cock jerk in his hand, stirs utterly possessive thoughts inside him. He keeps them to himself though, just lines himself up and leans over Steve and watches his face carefully, so carefully, as he pushes into him. 

Steve’s mouth drops open almost immediately. His brow pinches. “A-_ah! …Oooh_,” he moans quietly. His fingers grip Bucky’s shoulders tighter than before. 

Bucky watches him for any sign of pain, but he finds none. Steve just looks overwhelmed and genuinely surprised, and that’s not enough to keep Bucky from slowly pressing deeper inside of him in a long, slow slide. Finally, after what feels like forever, he bottoms out, his hips meeting the curve of Steve’s ass. Bucky exhales shakily, the feeling of being inside Steve where he’s so tight and hot the most incredible thing. But seeing Steve take him is almost better. He lowers himself down, encouraging Steve to bring his legs up and wrap around him. “You feel so good, baby,” he breathes into Steve’s face. 

Steve still looks overwhelmed, only now his features are bleeding into pleasure too. “Bucky,” he breathes. “Oh, you’re big.” 

Bucky’s lips quirk. “Don’t have to flatter me babe. You’re already getting laid.” 

Steve huffs and wiggles under him but that’s the extent of his protest. He rocks up against Bucky a little, but they’re pressed as close together as they can be and the thrust only moves Bucky’s cock the tiniest bit inside of him. “Move,” Steve orders him. He pecks a kiss to Bucky’s lips and tells him, “Want you to fuck me now.” 

Bucky has to shut his eyes at hearing those words come out of Steve. He lays his head in the cradle of Steve’s bony shoulder and regains his bearings, just feeling the pulse of his cock in Steve’s ass and the warm, skinny body underneath his. He doesn’t want to finish too soon, not when he’s got Steve underneath him like this. He wants this to last. Bucky runs his hand down over Steve’s ribs and back up, runs the pads of his fingers over Steve’s chest and one of his nipples. A small, barely-audible noise leaves Steve at the touch, but his shiver is clear and Bucky meets his gaze in surprise. “You’re not sensitive here,” he says, nearly a question. Steve’s never been; Bucky’s always just played with his nipples because _he_ likes it, likes the way it looks when they’re all puffy and plucked. But now he’s got it between his fingers and Steve looks anything if unaffected. “Steve?” he asks softly. 

“Mm.” Steve wiggles, face going beautifully red. “Guess it’s more intense when you’re inside me.” 

_God_, but Bucky needs to move. He can’t keep holding his hips still when Steve says stuff like that to him. He pinches Steve’s nipple once more, harshly, then lets it go. He’s bracing himself on his elbows again, hovering over Steve, waiting. He doesn’t ask, just makes sure that his and Steve’s eyes are connected as he starts to move. Any sign from Steve that it doesn’t feel good and he knows he’ll stop. The guy who’d popped Bucky’s cherry hadn’t exactly been gentle, and he’s determined not to be a bad experience for Steve. 

But he’s not moving his hips for more than a few seconds before Steve is making that face that Bucky _knows_ means he’s feeling more pleasure than he—good, Catholic boy that he is—wants to show. Bucky leans down and noses his face, sharing breath with him. “Come on, Stevie,” he tells him as he rolls his hips, gentle and smooth. “You feelin’ good?” 

“Mmhm,” Steve whimpers, lips parting beautifully when Bucky thrusts back in, in a way that he likes. “Oh, Bucky, _yes_.” 

Bucky chuckles. “Good. Wanna hear you Doll. Want you to let me hear all those pretty noises you make.” He thrusts his hips a little harder, a little firmer. “Just gotta—_uhn_, just gotta get you worked up enough, don’t I?” Steve makes a ‘_Guh_’ type noise of pleasure and Bucky groans. “Yeah, exactly. Like that.” He dips down and licks up the side of Steve’s neck to his ear, tasting the salt there. “You’re so gorgeous, Steve. Feel so good around my cock.” 

Steve whimpers again and Bucky takes that as his cue to really start moving. He fucks his hips faster, selfishly enjoying the clench of Steve’s body as something just for himself for a few moments before he brings himself back and he sits up. Steve whines at the loss of contact but Bucky just shushes him and scoots his thighs under Steve’s, hooking his forearms under Steve’s knees and pushing back inside him. Steve is in his lap and Bucky’s pulling him back into his thrusts. Steve cries out at the new angle, at the easy way it makes Bucky’s cock drag over his prostate. Bucky grins above him. “Yeah?” he asks. “Am I hittin’ it?” 

Steve nods frantically and bites down on his hand. “Nng.” 

Bucky bats that hand away roughly. “Told you I want to hear ya,” he says. He takes Steve’s hand and kisses it in apology, then guides it down to his cock, a clear command to touch himself. “Make yourself feel good,” he says, and goes back to holding Steve’s legs as he fucks him. Steve does as told, his hand going down to wrap around himself and tug in insistent little pulls. He jerks himself in time to Bucky’s thrusts. It’s beautiful to look at and Bucky groans. “Yeah, fuck. Just like that.” Steve moans—a deep, uncontrolled sound, and it gets to Bucky’s bones. He _loves_ the noises he can get out of Steve like this. “That’s it baby, feels so good. Fuck your fist. Fuck back on me. Fucking wanna see you come.” He’s blabbering, fucking into him faster as his own pleasure builds and he loses track of what he’s saying. Steve is staring straight up at him like he’s a god and Bucky wants nothing but to make him come, to see him fly apart when it’s Bucky’s cock up his ass. He moves harder, hitches Steve’s one leg up higher with his arm and bends to press a kiss to his knee. He’s still rolling his hips to get himself rubbing Steve just right inside, and if the pinch of Steve’s face is anything to go by, he’s right on the mark. 

“Bucky,” he cries, sounding completely wrecked. “Bucky m’close.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks darkly. He drops Steve’s legs and lays back over him, hips still working in the same, smooth pace. “Gonna make a mess for me baby?” 

“Ugh,” Steve moans, because they both know he loves to hear that sort of thing.

Bucky chuckles, then grunts as he can feel Steve tightening on him. “Fucking hell Steve, you’re gonna get me there.” 

Steve can’t answer, he’s too close. Bucky can tell. He reaches up and pinches Steve’s nipple with his metal hand, and he swallows Steve’s resultant cry into his mouth. Between their bellies, Steve’s hand freezes in its furious pumping, and wetness hits Bucky’s chest. Steve releases a long groan into his mouth. “Oh _God_,” he huffs when Bucky’s pulled his mouth away and is panting into his neck as he fucks into him in search of his own release. “Oh my god, Bucky.” His hands come out from between them and wrap around Bucky. He runs them over his sweaty skin and drags his nails across his back, tilting his hips to encourage Bucky’s thrusts. “Come,” he urges, still sounding breathless. “Come on Buck, I wanna feel it. Come inside me, give me your load.”

Bucky grunts, his hips stutter once, twice, and then he’s gone, Steve’s words and his tight body sending him over the edge. He shoots off in the condom, pleasure blinding him to anything other than Steve’s body. _God_, Steve’s sweet body. He presses harder against his ass, grinding where they’re connected. 

Steve just shushes him as he rides out the waves of his orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he says, hips squeezing him and hands petting soothingly over his back. “That’s it.” 

Once Bucky’s come down from it and can open his eyes again, he sees Steve beneath him, sweaty and flushed and wonderful. “Ugh,” he groans, and a dopey, fucked-out smile splits Steve’s face. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. Bucky goes to pull out, but Steve’s hands tighten against his shoulder blades, holding him fast. The little fucker is stronger than he looks. “Don’t,” he pleads. “Don’t pull out yet.” 

Well, if there was ever a command that Bucky wanted to follow… “Course babe,” he says, settling onto his elbows instead so he doesn’t crush Steve. His dick is softening inside him, but he doesn’t dare move his hips. He gets that Steve wants to preserve the closeness. He does too. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s mouth. Steve gives into it easily and the two of them slide their lips together for a long couple of moments.

When it’s just their breath mixing quietly, the both of them appreciating the color of each other’s irises, Steve whispers, “...I’m glad it was you.” 

Bucky smiles softly. “Yeah?” Steve’s never _told_ him he’s a virgin, but Bucky had pieced enough together to figure it out. “You glad I popped your cherry?” 

Steve rolls his eyes and blushes _massively_, but after he calms down, he gives Bucky a nod. “Yeah, I am. …I love you.” 

Bucky _melts_, because _fucking hell_, he’d almost forgotten they’d said that to each other. The thought makes his stomach swoop in an entirely different way. Grinning like a fool, he grabs Steve tightly to him and rolls them, somehow managing not to let his softened cock slip all the way out. He hugs Steve’s lithe body on top of him and buries his face in his neck, whispering, “Me too, punk. Me too.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

July, 2019

New York City’s adult social services building is a brown, brick affair in midtown. Rather squat in comparison to all the other buildings surrounding it, it still manages to loom over Steve where he stands on the sidewalk; a moody imposition as he tries to decide if he’s really going to go in.

“Steve?” Natasha says quietly where she’s standing next to him. “We doing this?”

Steve tenses his jaw but winds up nodding. “Yeah. Come on.” He heads for the doors, Natasha close on his heels. Inside, the lobby is a bit of controlled chaos. There are a ton of people, all talking with social service workers in louder than necessary voices. Steve’s eyes flit over everything, unsure of where to go or who to talk to. Luckily, a woman with a nametag clipped to her lapel approaches them.

“Can I help you?” she asks. She sounds harried but her voice is pleasant enough. Her nametag reads, _Dolores_.

Steve nods. “I uh. My late husband is one of the people who had a clone. Bucky— uh, that is… James Barnes?”

“Say no more.” The woman gestures for Steve to follow her. “This way.”

They take the elevator up to the fourth floor, where they’re handed over to another social worker, this one a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit. He looks harried too as he greets them. “Been crazy around here,” he tells them as he logs onto his computer to find the information they need. “Ever since this whole ‘Clonegate’ thing blew up. Goddamn mad scientists. Now we got all these empty-headed adults who don’t hardly know what to do with themselves. Buncha’ overgrown babies.”

Steve shares a perturbed glance with Natasha but says nothing. The man finds the information he needs and stands to direct them further. He takes them up another two floors and they exit the elevator onto what is pretty obviously a residential wing. It’s vaguely hospital-like, with outdated furniture creating a bare-bones sort of common area in the middle, and doors to what are probably private rooms lining the halls. Steve and Natasha go and sit down in the common area at the social worker’s behest and wait while he goes to find Bucky’s clone. 

Sitting there, Steve twiddles his thumbs and looks around. There’s a television set high up on a wall, playing an episode of some home improvement show. The common room is empty except for him, Natasha, and couple of men and women in sweatpants and tee shirts. It’s obvious that they’ve been given the clothes to wear, and Steve wonders if they’re clones, too.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs. 

Steve’s attention shoots back to her, and he sees where she’s looking. The social worker is coming back towards them, this time with…

_God_, he looks just like Bucky. 

Steve’s heart clenches harder than it has in a year, and his face feels hot like he’s going to cry. _Pull it together Rogers._ He’d tried, he’d really tried to prepare himself for this, for what it would be like to see this person; a genetic copy of his late husband, someone who looks so much like Bucky. But _God_, Steve thinks harshly. He just mustn’t have that good of an imagination, because he never could’ve imagined feeling like this.

He’s looking right at Bucky’s face again. It’s _Bucky’s_ face and it’s ripping Steve’s heart straight out of his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says softly as Bucky’s clone and the social worker approach. He stands up and backs away, feeling like he might vomit. “I’m sorry I can’t.” 

He runs away.

-

Steve splashes water on his face in the bathroom, pulls himself together, and goes back out to face reality. They’re all still there; the social worker and Bucky—_not Bucky_, he reminds himself—looking at him curiously, and Natasha looking at him with complete understanding, god bless her. Steve clears his throat as he approaches. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Don’t know what came over me.”

The social worker looks distinctly uncomfortable but he makes the introduction. “Mr. Rogers, this is TJ. TJ, this is Steve Rogers.”

Steve blinks, taken-aback. “TJ?” he repeats dumbly. 

The man who looks just like Bucky nods and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says, looking nervous.

Steve shakes himself, realizing that he’s been staring. “Sorry,” he says, trying to approximate something akin to a smile. “I didn’t know your ah, your name.”

TJ nods. “They told me that I look like your ex-husband.”

Steve’s heart starts beating faster again. This is hard. Harder than he thought it was going to be. This guy—this _TJ_—sounds just like Bucky. He has the same face and the same damned voice. Steve swallows. “Late husband,” he corrects. “Bucky, he… he died.”

“Oh.” TJ looks down at where the slippers he’s wearing rest against the linoleum of the floor. He’s dressed in the generic sweats and tee-shirt like the other people Steve saw. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

Steve shrugs, though he feels anything but flippant about it. “It was years ago,” he says. “But we heard about you and, well…” _Well?_ He doesn’t really know what else to say. The government was largely releasing these clones into the custody of the people they’d been cloned from, and Bucky was dead and gone, and his clone didn’t have anywhere to go. Steve nods over at Natasha where she’s standing beside him. “This is Natasha Romanoff.”

“Hi,” she greets calmly, and TJ seems responsive enough to that.

“Hi.”

“Anyway we uh, we live at a place called Avengers’ Tower. It’s a building owned by a man named Tony Stark.” Steve pauses, unsure how much this TJ knows about the outside world. “You know who Iron man is? The Avengers?”

Surprisingly, TJ nods. It’s little and it’s unsure, but it’s there. “They showed me how to Google,” he says. “And they told me who I was cloned from, so I could Google him.”

Steve swallows. “Oh.” So TJ knows about Bucky? The idea is weird but also somewhat of a relief. It certainly means Steve has less that he’ll have to explain, and he’s grateful for that. “So you know about it? Okay, that’s good.” He nods. “Anyway, we live in Avengers’ tower, and I guess since I’m Bucky’s only surviving… well, I’m the only one who can inherit you, or…” He winces. That had not come out right. “Sorry. Not ‘inherit’ but…” He sighs. “Well they said you could come home with me, if you wanted.” TJ blinks at him and Steve is quick to add, “But you don’t have to. Definitely don’t have to. You can stay here if you want.” He looks over to the social worker to lend support to this. “Right?”

“Of course,” the man says quickly. “Yes TJ. You have the choice. It’s up to you what you’d like to do.”

TJ bites his lip in a distinctly non-Bucky way, and looks at them all. “I don’t know…” He scuffs the indoor slipper-shoes they’ve given him against the floor. “I don’t really have anything going for me here.” A careful glance to Steve, almost shy in its consideration. “Would you mind if I went with you?”

Steve’s heart thumps extra hard—a sad, aching feeling. “Oh yeah. I won’t mind.” He looks to Natasha and she nods encouragingly. “We’ve got um, that is to say there’s plenty of room at the tower. I’m sure we can get you set up with your own apartment and such.”

TJ’s face brightens, and it does awful things to Steve’s insides to see that sunny smile again. That’s what Bucky’s _Steve_ smile had looked like. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He abruptly finds that he has to turn away. “Nat?” he says, back turned to TJ and feet already carrying him towards the elevator. “You got this?”

“Oh… um, yeah,” Natasha says, not commenting further as she watches him unexpectedly stride towards the elevator. If she’s upset with Steve for fleeing she doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because the elevator doors ding shut and Steve is out of view, removed from the situation before he really _can_ break down and cry. Natasha’s left to arrange the details of TJ’s move with the social worker. 

.oOo.

It’s more than seven hours later when he sees Natasha again. She finds him in Brooklyn, where he’s been sitting by Bucky’s gravestone since noon. The sun’s almost set now.

“Steve.” She comes and joins him on the bench where he’s sitting, not saying anything else for a few long minutes. A breeze picks up and blows a few clumps of leaves across the grass over Bucky’s grave. “You know it’d kill him to see you unhappy.”

Steve scoffs, and it’s a sad, choked-off sort of noise. “Well then he should’ve thought twice before going off and getting himself killed, shouldn’t he?” Natasha doesn’t dignify that with a response, and Steve feels mollified. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I know he was your friend too.”

“Yeah,” she says. “He was.” 

Steve shakes his head, still staring at Bucky’s headstone. _Here lies Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes_, it says. _Friend, Hero, Husband. 1917-2017_. “Made it all the way to a hundred,” Steve mutters. “Couldn’t hang around a little longer.” He lets his head drop, stares at his fingers where they’re clenched in his lap. “I miss him so much Nat.”

“I know.”

“This is like ripping open the wound again,” he blurts. “Seeing him? It’s just…” he chokes off, words dissolving into a sob. He squeezes his eyes shut and a second later he feels Natasha leaning against him, giving him a hug from the side. 

“Awful?” she supplies.

“Yes!” Steve sniffles, tries to stop his crying. He hasn’t cried in… gosh, it must be over half a year by now. “I’d been getting over it,” he says. “It was finally getting better. I could actually look at pictures of him, at my old paintings of him, and not feel like my guts were being ripped out. But now? This guy?” Steve exhales shakily. “He’s _him_ Nat. He looks just like him and I don’t know. I just don’t know if I can stand to be around him.”

Natasha keeps leaning against him, silent for a moment before she says, “Well you don’t have to. If it’s too hard for you.”

Steve ponders that for all of a moment before he’s shaking his head and discarding the notion. “He’s got nowhere else to go,” he says. “We can’t just leave him in that place. We… _someone_ owes it to him, to give him a life.”

“Doesn’t have to be you, Steve.”

Steve loves her for saying it, even while he knows that she’s wrong.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March, 2014--Intensive Care Unit, Brooklyn Memorial Hospital
> 
> July, 2019--41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

March, 2014

Steve listens to the beeps of the machine of the patient next to him. The guy’s doped up and Steve’s pretty sure he’s asleep. The curtain between their beds has been drawn but he can still hear the nasty sucking sounds that the tube draining the patient’s saliva makes. He’s had his jaw wired shut, Steve knows. With a wince, he reaches for the remote to the tv, hoping to drown out the noise with some inane afternoon program.

He’s just settled on an episode of the Dr. Phil show when he hears the door to his hospital room open. A second later Bucky comes around the curtain. Steve smiles. “Hey you,” he says. He hasn’t spoken in hours, not since the nurse brought him breakfast, and the sudden words make his chest seize up. He wheezes and lets out a terrible couch, fluid rattling in his chest. “Ugh,” he groans, slumping back into the pillows that’re propping him up. He looks at Bucky sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Bucky is frowning. Steve knows that he’s been worried sick over him. He’s been visiting for hours every day since Steve got admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. Now the doctors tell him he’s developed a bad lung infection, and after two weeks Bucky’s worrying has worsened and Steve is growing sick of the hospital food. “You sound terrible,” Bucky tells him, coming over to sit in the recliner by Steve’s bedside. He reaches out and takes his boyfriend’s hand, careful to avoid the IV port that’s taped to the back of it. 

“M’okay,” Steve tells him. “They’ve started me on a new antibiotic. This one’s supposed to work better.”

Bucky doesn’t look appeased. “I talked with your doctor Steve. He said your lungs aren’t clearing.”

“I shouldn’t have given permission for you to talk with him,” Steve grumps. “It’s only making you worry.”

“I have a right to worry.” Bucky reaches up, tucks Steve’s hair back from his forehead. “I’m so sick of seeing you go through this. You deserve better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” Bucky huffs. “Don’t apologize babe.”

Steve looks down at the blankets that cover his lap, feeling put-out. “If I wasn’t—” he coughs wretchedly again. “If I wasn’t always so sick, you could relax. S’not normal to have a boyfriend who’s in the hospital all the time.” He glances at Bucky. “I’m pathetic.”

Bucky’s face darkens. “Stop it. You know I hate to hear you talk about yourself like that.”

“M’weak,” Steve complains.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky says. His voice is firm and maybe a little angry at Steve. When Steve sighs and starts coughing again because of it, he pats Steve on the back until it passes. “I brought someone to see you,” he says once Steve’s settled again. 

“What? Who?” Steve offers him a weak smile and looks over at the curtain the obscures the rest of the room. “Nat? Sam? You guys hiding over there?”

Bucky chuckles and just then a man rounds the curtain. He’s not anyone Steve knows, and he frowns. “Who’re you?”

“Steve, this is Mr. Ivanov.”

The man steps closer, looking friendly. He’s holding a manilla folder in one hand and he holds out his other hand for Steve to shake. Steve does. “Hello Mr. Rogers,” he says. He’s got a strong Russian accent.

“Uh, it’s Steve,” Steve offers.

The man nods. “Yuri.”

“Nice to meet you.” Steve looks over to Bucky questioningly. “Why is he here?”

“He’s a Russian scientist,” Bucky tells him. “He flew over from Moscow just to see you.”

“Me?” Steve looks back at the man, confused. “Why?”

“He’s a friend of Nat’s,” Bucky is explaining. “Russian operatives recently uncovered a few packets of the serum in an old Hydra base.”

Steve is shocked. “_Your_ serum?” he asks.

“Not exactly. It’s weaker. A knockoff, so to speak.”

“Wow. Okay, but why—”

“I called in a favor. Or, well, Natasha did,” Bucky says, and now he’s starting to look happy again, excited. He nearly beams at Steve. “You’re going to get one of the packets.”

It takes a second for Steve to process that, but when he does he’s pretty sure his jaw drops. “What? _Me_?” He looks over at the man—Yuri—and sees him nod. “But… I’m not important,” he says. “You said there’re only a few packets. How did you—”

“You’re important to me,” Bucky interrupts firmly. His voice is hard, leaving no room for argument. He squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “I want you to have it. It’ll make you better. You won’t get sick like this.” Then he averts his eyes and says quietly, “I won’t have to agonize that I’m going to lose you.”

Steve gulps. “But Buck…”

“Hm?”

“Will it change the way I look?”

Bucky shrugs. “Mine did a little. But the important part is you’ll be stronger. Healthy. I want that for you Stevie, more than anything. I love you and I want to spend my life with you. I…” Here is where he gets a nervous look in his eyes. Steve is confused about it until he sees Bucky go fishing around in his pocket, and then he gets to his knee on the floor. 

Steve feels his mouth go dry. He inhales sharply and by some miracle it doesn’t set off another bout of coughing. “Buck?” he breathes, voice barely there. “What are you doing?” Bucky looks up at him and he’s flipping open the little box that Steve already knows contains a ring. “Oh my god,” Steve whispers. “Bucky,”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky says, and already Steve can feel his throat closing up. “I have been through a lot of bad things in my life. A _lot_ of ‘em. Five years ago, it got better, and I thought I had all I needed. My freedom seemed like enough.” He looks at Steve seriously, but his eyes are full of love. “But I was wrong. I found that out when I met you.”

Steve would cry, but he’s trying desperately to at least hold out until Bucky can finish what he’s obviously planned to say.

“After I met you I remembered what it was to be truly happy. For the first time in seventy years, I got to feel that again. Because of you.”

“Oh, Buck…”

It’s here that Bucky gets up. He comes over and sits himself on the edge of Steve’s bed, practically glowing as he looks at him. “I love you more than I have ever loved anything, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me. I want to—”

“Yes!” Steve yelps, unable to keep from interrupting Bucky’s speech anymore. “Yes, yes. I’ll marry you!”

Bucky’s face splits in the widest grin Steve thinks he’s ever seen on it. “Really?” he asks, sounding like he can’t believe it even though that’s ridiculous.

“Of course you jerk.” Steve grabs Bucky to him and hugs him, finally tearing up a little when Bucky mutters an affectionate, _“punk”_ into his ear. Steve pulls back, holding out his hand. “Put it on me?”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah.” He takes the ring out of its box. It’s plain—just dark metal with a groove all the way around in the middle. Steve loves it to death. “Here.” Bucky takes Steve’s left hand in his. He’s still got the IV taped there but it doesn’t get in the way as Bucky slides it onto his finger. It’s a perfect fit. 

Steve can only stare at the thing on his hand for a long moment, feeling overwhelmed and in near disbelief. “God Bucky, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He looks back up, shares a watery smile with his boyfriend—now _fiancée_ he astounds—and grabs the front of his shirt to pull him into what is probably the most passionate kiss they’ve ever shared. If it’s not, it certainly feels like it.

Behind them, Yuri clears his throat.

Steve pulls back and both he and Bucky turn their heads to look at the other man. Yuri looks vaguely embarrassed but he offers them a smile too. “Congratulations,” he says.

Steve is blushing, he can feel it. But he says, “Thank you,” anyway. He looks back to Bucky. “Hey,” he says softly, heart feeling like a helium balloon. “I love you.”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “Love you too. So much.” Then, more quietly, “Thank you for saying yes.”

Steve melts a little. “Like I’d ever say anything else.”

Again, Yuri clears his throat. “Um, I know this is a joyous occasion but would you like to discuss the other matter at hand?”

“Oh!” Steve nods. He looks nervously at Bucky. “What do you think Buck?”

Bucky squeezes his hand again, this time more firmly. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you Steve. So yeah, I want you to have it.”

“Is it risky? The procedure?”

Bucky looks to Yuri. “Will you explain it to him?”

“Yes.” Yuri hands the folder he’s been holding over to Steve and allows him to take it. As Steve opens it and starts reading through the pages, he commences to get a long and only-slightly confusing explanation about what he’ll have to go through if he really wants to get the “knockoff” version of Bucky’s serum.

.oOo.

July, 2019

TJ arrives at the tower on a Tuesday. Steve is aware that he’s coming, but he holes himself up in his room and waits for whatever hubbub there’s going to be upon his arrival to die down. He hears Natasha enter his apartments, assumes she’s with TJ because he can hear her talking quietly and he knows that TJ’s been given a room on Steve’s floor of the building. He probably would’ve fought that decision but as Pepper pointed out, the only other residential floor that had a spare suite for TJ was on Thor and Loki’s floor. Since the two gods were still visiting Steve didn’t think TJ needed to be inundated with their particular brand of…openness, quite so soon.

He lays on his bed and listens as Natasha takes TJ to his new bedroom. 

_“Sir?”_ Jarvis’ voice sounds over the room’s speaker. 

“Yeah?” Steve asks. His throat’s a little raw. He’d been looking at pictures of Bucky again, and this time he’d cried. It’s like TJ’s emergence in his life has ripped the wounds open again. Steve’s trying hard not to be resentful about it. “What is it Jarvis?”

_“I just wanted to inform you that the clone of Mr. Barnes has been shown to his room.”_

“His name’s TJ,” Steve says blandly. 

_“Shall I provide him with clearance for the entire floor?”_ Jarvis asks.

“Everywhere but my studio,” Steve says. Really, he’s sure that TJ wouldn’t cause a problem if he did go in there, but that’s Steve’s private space and he’s sure he’ll need it now that TJ’s effectively living with him.

_“Very good Sir.”_

“Thanks Jarvis.”

_“…Sir, if I may?”_

Steve sighs. “What?”

_“TJ may benefit from your company, should you so choose.”_

Steve is quiet. He doesn’t want to spend time with TJ. He knows he won’t be able to stop thinking of him as Bucky, and that hardly seems fair—to him, TJ, _or_ to Bucky. “Go away Jarvis,” Steve says. He’s never spoken to the AI so rudely in his life. Jarvis goes away.

-

After an hour or two spent hiding in his room Steve gets hungry. He has half a mind to ask Jarvis to send DUM-E up to deliver something to him just so he doesn’t have to leave his room, but in the end decides that he’s being cowardly and needs to bite the bullet, so to speak. He gets up and goes out to the kitchen. TJ is in the living room, sitting on the couch. He’s doing absolutely nothing, just staring out the window. He looks over at Steve when he walks into the kitchen. Steve glances at him but is quick to open the fridge and start rooting around inside.

“Hi,” TJ ventures. 

Steve grabs ham and mayo from the fridge and turns around. “Hi,” he echoes. He goes to pull out the bread from the breadbox.

“Natasha brought me up here,” TJ says. “She said you were okay with it if I lived on your floor.” Steve doesn’t say anything, just starts slathering the mayo on the bread. “Um… is it? Okay?” 

Steve shrugs, still not making eye contact even though he can tell that TJ is looking at him. “S’fine,” he says. “You have to stay somewhere.”

TJ’s quiet for a moment, and when Steve can’t stand it anymore he glances up. The guy is still looking at him. “What?” he asks.

“If you don’t want me around you, I can go somewhere else,” TJ says. “I get that it bothers you to see me.”

Steve pauses in his sandwich making. He supposes that Bucky’s intuition is something that’s been passed on in the genetic code. The thought hurts as much as it annoys. “I’m sorry,” he says, feeling bad. “I just don’t know what to say.”

TJ shrugs. “Can we talk a little?”

Steve really, really doesn’t want to, but he also feels bad for being so rude. So he finishes making his sandwich, puts it on a plate and comes around to the couch. He sits about as far away from TJ as he can. He takes a bite of his sandwich and then pauses. “Um, did you want something to eat?” he asks. 

“I’m okay,” TJ says. “Natasha bought me… Chip… Chipotle?” Steve nods, goes back to eating. “So,” TJ asks, “do I look _exactly_ like him?”

Steve doesn’t like the question. He uses his sandwich-chewing as an excuse not to answer for a long moment. When he finally does he says, “I thought you’d googled him?”

“I did,” TJ says. “There weren’t many pictures of him on the internet.” Steve grunts. Bucky had liked his privacy. “I did see that he had a metal arm.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah. He lost it in the war.”

“Oh.” TJ is quiet for a moment, and when Steve glances at him he seems thoughtful. “So I guess they made me to replace it?”

“What?”

“His arm,” TJ says. He holds out his left arm as if to illustrate his point. “They probably wanted to give him my arm, right?”

Steve swallows, feeling nauseated at the thought. He sets his sandwich back on the plate. “His arm worked just fine,” he says. “I’m sure that’s not why they… made you.”

“Did you know about me?” TJ asks, sounding shy. “They said most people knew about their clones, that they signed up for the program as an insurance measure.”

“Insurance in body parts,” Steve scoffs. “Jesus.”

“So you didn’t know about me?”

“No.” Steve scowls. “Of course not. And neither did Bucky. He never would’ve been okay with that.”

TJ seems satisfied by this. “Okay.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment, then Steve says, “He was older than you.”

“He was?”

“Mmhm.” Steve shrugs. “I don’t know how they uh, _aged_ you guys. But you’re definitely younger than him.” TJ has a younger, more fleshed-out face than Bucky had had. His eyes don’t have any creases beside them. Steve thinks that he preferred the creases. “And his hair was longer, straighter.” Darker too, or at least he thinks. “And he was bigger than you.”

TJ frowns. “I don’t get it. We’re supposed to be genetic copies.”

“He worked out,” Steve clarifies. “A lot.” He doesn’t say anything about the serum that Bucky had. No point in telling TJ about that. “So yeah, he looked a lot different than you.” _Not different enough though_, he thinks.

“I see.”

Steve goes back to eating his sandwich, feeling tired from this discussion already. “What else do you want to know?” he asks. Hopefully they can get this over with and then he can get TJ set up with a hobby or two and they won’t have to interact with one another anymore.

“Did he… do you have any pictures of him I can see?”

Steve freezes, looks up from his sandwich. “No,” he says, lying without knowing exactly why. He stands up in a hurry, leaving his half-eaten sandwich abandoned on the plate. “Excuse me. I’ve got… work to do.”

He locks himself in his studio and fails to paint anything good.

.oOo.

It’s movie night. All the avengers are assembled in Tony’s home theater to watch Natasha’s selection of _Blade Runner_. She’s in the seat to Steve’s right, Sam on his left. In the row behind them, TJ’s been adopted by Darcy and Wanda, both of whom can’t seem to stop being fascinated by him. Steve eavesdrops as they ask him questions.

“Do you remember being born?”

“No. They grew us in artificial wombs.”

“Did they keep you locked up?”

“No. Well, we had habitats.”

“How did you get old so fast?”

“I don’t know.”

“How old are you really?”

“Three, technically.”

“Who named you?”

“I used to have a number, but the social services people said we should try and pick names so I picked TJ.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“Nothing. I just heard one of the police officers call someone that name. So I picked it.”

The girls giggle and try to make up what TJ could stand for. “Bucky’s real name was James,” Darcy says. 

“Hey yeah! So TJ could stand for like… Twin James. Because you’re like his twin!”

Steve cringes.

.oOo.

“You should talk to him,” Sam tells him as they spar. Thor’s over to the side, getting a drink of water (or mead, Steve’s not sure). The Asgardian had gone a few rounds with Steve to wear him out so that he could have a fair fight with Sam. “I mean look at him: he’s obviously lonely.” 

Steve glances over to where TJ is sitting by the weights. He’s half-heartedly doing bicep curls while he stares at Natasha doing her stretches. Steve wants to roll his eyes. Obviously the gay gene didn’t get passed on. “Seems plenty entertained to me,” he says, blocking a jab meant for his throat. 

“Everybody knows you’ve been ignoring him,” Sam says.

“What am I supposed to do? Play board games with him?”

“Why not? I’m sure he’s got no idea what they are. You could teach him Scrabble. Wasn’t Bucky good at that?”

Steve swipes Sam’s feet out from under him but Sam is able to roll away in time to avoid being pinned. They both spring back to their feet. “I don’t want to play Scrabble with him,” Steve says. “I don’t want to do anything with him.”

“Man, you can’t just keep—” Sam is cut off as Steve gets a jab in, then tumbles them both to the floor to hold him down until Sam taps out.

-

“Look,” Sam says once they’re both toweling the sweat from their eyes. “I get that seeing him is hard. He reminds you of Bucky.”

“It’s like seeing a ghost.”

“You’ll never get used to him if you keep avoiding him like this. And it’s hurting his feelings. I think he expected you to be his friend or something.”

Steve feels awful. He chugs from his water bottle (not mead) and sighs when he’s done. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Sam claps a hand on his shoulder, sympathetic. “He might not give you a choice. Look out, he’s coming this way.”

Steve turns just in time to come face to face with TJ. The guy is looking at him with interest in his eyes. “Could you teach me to fight like that?” he asks. “It looks like fun.”

Steve cringes, he can’t help it. “I’m not like a normal person. I’d probably break you.” He nods in Sam’s direction. “Sam can give you some lessons if you really want to learn.”

TJ looks disappointed. “Oh. But I was hoping you could teach me.”

“Why me?”

“Well we could spend some time together and—”

“Look,” Steve says, interrupting him. “I know you want a friend, but I’m really not the best choice. Anybody else would be happy to hang out with you.” At TJ’s hurt look Steve adds, “I’m sorry, but it’s just too hard for me. You have to understand. I was married to him. I loved him. And you, well… you look and sound just like him. It’s too painful for me to be around you.” He pauses, looking over TJ’s face. “Do you understand?”

TJ still looks hurt, but he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I understand.”

Steve leaves the gym feeling sad and like a sack of shit, but fairly sure that he’s put TJ off him for good.

.oOo.

The Avengers are called away on a mission. Something to do with a terrorist attack in New Asgard. Fury makes it sound serious but Steve honestly just feels sorry for whatever schmuck thought it was a good idea to attack Thor and Loki’s people. 

An unfortunate side-effect of the Avengers all being out of the tower is that Steve is left all alone with TJ. They both stay confined to their suite—Steve in his studio and TJ in the living room. Steve sets TJ up with his own Netflix profile, which thankfully keeps him occupied for most of the day. When Steve’s not working, he ventures out long enough to make dinner for the two of them. One night it’s a roast with vegetables and another it’s eggs and pancakes. TJ seems to like the pancakes, so the next night Steve makes waffles. He tries not to think too hard about the way he feels when TJ’s face lights up at the first bite.

Then one night Steve wakes to the sound of screaming. It’s muffled through the walls, but he can tell what it is. He debates about getting up for only a moment, but then Jarvis is speaking up and telling him,

_“Captain Rogers, TJ is in distress. I believe he is having a—”_

“Nightmare. Yeah, I got it. Thanks Jarvis.”

Jarvis seems to understand that he’s not needed, and he doesn’t speak again. Steve sighs, gets out of bed, and shucks on a tee shirt to go over to TJ’s room and wake him up.

TJ’s sitting straight up in bed, his eyes wide open but unseeing. He’s screaming. Something about needing to _run!_ and _hide!_ and _no please don’t!_. And there’re tears leaking down his cheeks. Steve’s heart clenches at the sight of him. He rushes to the side of the bed and sits on it, taking TJ’s shoulders in his hands and shaking him. “TJ, wake up. Wake _up_ TJ.”

TJ gasps and wakes, eyes flashing around in a panic. He’s breathing heavily still, and when he registers Steve in front of him he gives a heaving sob and throws himself into Steve’s chest. Steve just sits there for a minute, stunned and not knowing what to do, before instinct takes over and he wraps his arms around TJ. He shushes him, rubs his back and soothes him with gentle words, surprising himself. Really, he shouldn’t be. He’d done this with Bucky so many times that it’s like his body just remembers what to do. He waits for a long moment, holding TJ and waiting for him to calm down. “It’s okay,” he soothes, speaking gentlY into his short hair. He smells like Bucky, and it’s with a pained lurch that Steve realizes somebody must’ve given TJ the same generic Avengers Tower shampoo that Bucky had used. “Shhh, it’s okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream.”

Eventually TJ gets a hold of himself and he pulls back. He sniffles and looks at Steve sheepishly, embarrassed. “M’sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hands now that TJ’s not in them. He places them on his thighs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” TJ nods, scrubs his hands over his face. It’s weird, Steve realizes, to see two flesh hands there. “Just a nightmare.”

“…Want to talk about it?”

TJ looks surprised. Hell, Steve is surprised. He kind of wants to take the offer back. “Sorry,” he says hurriedly. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just go back to my room.” He makes to stand, but TJ’s hand shoots out and grabs him. Steve lowers himself back down.

“I was dreaming about the facility,” TJ tells him. “Where they kept us.”

“Oh?” As far as Steve knows, TJ’s never talked about this before. 

“Yeah. They um, they started going around to everyone’s rooms,” TJ says. “At first nobody noticed anything. They were real quiet about it, just went in room-by-room with needles and walked back out.”

Steve gulps. “Needles?” 

“Mmhm. My friend, 33684,”

“33684?” Steve says, confused. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, right. You didn’t have names.”

TJ nods. “She was your friend Natasha’s clone.”

“Oh.”

“She came into my room. She was scared.” TJ twists his lips. “She was kind of like the real Natasha, in that she didn’t show her emotions that much, but I could tell she was scared. She’d seen what they were doing. She got me up, got us running.”

“What happened then?”

TJ frowns, looking unhappy at remembering. “We got a group of about twenty of us together. 33684 knocked one of the handlers out and we sole his security tag, used it to get out of the habitat.”

Steve feels cold at hearing all this. He’s somehow kept himself from thinking too much about what TJ’s life might’ve been like before. It’d seemed unreal until now. “And then?” he asks, needing to know.

“We ran.” TJ shrugs. “We didn’t know where we were going. It was confusing, lots of hallways and locked doors. At the time we still didn’t know that the facility was underground.” He frowns. “We didn’t know anything. Not that we were clones, or prisoners. We’d always been told that there was some sort of apocalyptic event. A disease that killed people. We were supposed to be the survivors, and they kept us there to protect us.”

“Jesus.”

“Hm, yeah.” TJ shudders and Steve has to resist the urge to reach out and physically comfort him. “We had to run from them. They had guns. They…” he swallows. “They shot everybody.”

“But not you.”

“No, not me. I got through an air vent and made it into this little storage room. Nobody knew where I was and I just stayed in there, hiding.” TJ looks down, shamed. “They were killing my friends and I just hid.”

Now Steve does reach out and lay a hand on TJ’s shoulder to comfort him. “Hey, there was probably nothing you could have done. You were unarmed. They just would’ve killed you too.”

TJ shakes his head. “I know that, logically I know that. But I just keep remembering hearing everybody’s screams.” A tear slips from his eye, tracking down to his jaw. He wipes it hastily away. “And I was in there for a long time. They told me two days. There were rescue people who came and were calling out for survivors, but I was afraid it was just a trick, that they’d kill me too. So I stayed hiding until somebody opened the door to the room I was in.”

“Jeeze TJ,” Steve says. “I’m so sorry.”

TJ sighs. “I lived. I got out. I was lucky.”

“Yeah you were,” Steve agrees. He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “Are you going to be alright now if I leave?”

TJ sniffs but nods. He gives Steve a watery smile. “Yeah, don’t mind me. I have these dreams all the time. I’ll be fine.”

Steve’s heart clenches at hearing that TJ has suffered from these nightmares before. He can’t help but to think of Bucky and how he’d always had nightmares too. Even after being free from Hydra for so long, he still hadn’t been able to shake the nightmares. Steve sighs, knowing that Bucky had never like being left alone afterwards. Steve had always been there for Bucky, held him in his arms and comforted him back to sleep. Steve knows he can’t bring himself to hold TJ like that, and hell, he probably wouldn’t even be welcomed if he tried, but the least he can do is stay with him. “Scoot over,” he says reluctantly. “I’ll stay with you if you want.”

TJ’s eyes widen. It’s clear he hadn’t been expecting this. “You… you will?”

“If you want.” Steve nods. “Bucky never liked to be alone either, after.”

It’s tentative, but TJ smiles at him. “Thank you.” He moves over to the other side of the bed to make room for Steve. Steve lays down and yanks the spare pillow under his head. He makes no move to touch TJ, but TJ looks completely satisfied to just have the company. “Goodnight,” he says, still looking grateful.

Steve offers him what little of a smile he can. “Goodnight TJ. Get some rest.”


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April, 2014--41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan 
> 
> July, 2019--41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

April, 2014

Steve stands in front of the big, floor-length mirror that’s in his and Bucky’s room, staring at his reflection. 

He’s alone. Bucky’s gone. He’d been called away just after Steve woke up on a table in a non-existent government facility. There hadn’t been time for Steve to do much more than blink hazy eyes open and glance over to Bucky—who was speaking in Russian with the doctors and had a stern expression on his face.

_“Did it work?”_ Steve had croaked, and Bucky’s attention had shot over lightening-fast. He’d stared down at Steve for a split second, lips parted with unspoken words, before the emergency call sounded and he’d run out of the room, off to save the city with all the rest of the Avengers.

Steve had been left alone to look down and discover his new body by himself. Turns out, the procedure _had_ worked.

Now, back in their apartment, Steve can’t help but to worry. Bucky was supposed to be there for this, when it finally happened. Steve supposes aliens attacking Manhattan is important, too. The crashes have stopped. It’s been over for an hour, maybe. Sirens still wail in the distance, forty stories below where Steve stands now. He’s got the tv tuned to the news, only half listening to it as he stands in front of the mirror. Aliens in Manhattan seems like small potatoes, compared to what he’s facing now. He’d been sent home in hospital scrubs but had quickly switched out to a pair of Bucky’s old clothes. He’d needed the comforting smell of _Bucky_ and laundry soap; the familiar feeling of worn, pilly fabric. 

Only it’s not familiar. It’s not right at all. 

The sweatpants that used to drag on the floor after two cuffs now reach his ankles, and the teeshirt is a decent fit; tight, even. Steve gulps as he looks at himself in it, how the swell of his pecs—_pecs!_—stretches the faded _Stark Industries_ print on the front. 

_He’s just as big as Bucky now._

Steve feels oddly upset by that. He’s always been the small one in their relationship. He’s always been the… the _Steve_ in their relationship, always fitting in against Bucky just so, his head tucked under Bucky’s chin like a puzzle piece. Now, standing in front of the mirror and no longer swallowed up by his boyfriend’s clothes, Steve’s not too sure what he is anymore, or how they’ll fit. 

He hadn’t known the serum would change him so much.

“Jarvis,” Steve says quietly. “Where is he?”

_“Sergeant Barnes is debriefing on the sixty-third floor of the tower, Sir,”_ Jarvis says. _“He is anxious to end the meeting, it would seem.”_

Steve’s lips quirk. He pulls the teeshirt up enough to bare his stomach. Jeeze. He curls his fingers over the bumps in his abdomen, counting them. _Abs_, he thinks. He’s got abs now. 

It’s not that he hadn’t known it was a possibility. The procedure was supposed to make him stronger. He just hadn’t thought it would be _so much_. 

“What if he doesn’t like it?” Steve murmurs. He’s speaking to himself, but Jarvis picks up on it anyway and informs him,

_“Sergeant Barnes expressed satisfaction with the results of your enhancements, before you regained consciousness.”_

Steve huffs. “Thanks Jarvis. That’ll… that’ll be all.” The AI goes silent. Steve keeps staring in the mirror. Nothing looks familiar. He bites his lip, wondering what Bucky will say when he comes back and really gets a chance to see him. They hadn’t discussed the physical ramifications of the serum other than how it would help Steve’s health. That’d been the part that mattered to them, after all. Steve knows he should be grateful, but he doesn’t look like himself anymore, and he doesn’t know how to handle that. 

_What if Bucky doesn’t, either?_

This isn’t what Bucky fell in love with, this isn’t what he’s gasped that he loves a thousand times in the throes of orgasm. This isn’t who he asked to marry him. The wedding band he’d proposed with is sitting on top of the bedroom dresser, too small to fit on Steve’s finger anymore. Steve feels his guts twist even further in worry. He may have been scrawny before, but he’d at least been confident that he was Bucky’s type. What if Bucky doesn’t—

“_…Baby,_” 

Steve inhales sharply and whips around. There’s Bucky, standing in the doorway to their room. He’s post-mission disheveled; hair everywhere, blood on his uniform, face streaked in dust and dirt. Years ago, it would have bothered Steve, but he’s used to all that now. It’s not Bucky’s physical state that Steve stares at, riveted and heart in his throat. It’s his expression.

Bucky’s looking at him in shock. “Stevie,” he says softly, eyes flicking up and down his body. “_Look_ at you.” 

Steve squirms, hands itching to wrap around himself. “Yeah,” he says, then has to swallow because his voice isn’t working right. He tries again and says awkwardly. “It uh, it worked.” He shrugs, unable to handle Bucky’s expressionless stare. “Do you… do you not like it?” 

Bucky’s eyes widen and he exhales harshly, rushing forward to take Steve into his arms and hold him firmly against his body. It’s not the same as it used to be. Steve isn’t enveloped by him, can’t press his face into his sternum and feel a chin atop his hair. But the dirty smell of Bucky is the same, the rough fabric of his BDU’s against Steve’s skin is the same. Steve’s breath wavers and he lets it out with a little, hurt sound. 

“Shhh,” Bucky’s already soothing, somehow able to know what Steve’s feeling and thinking without being told . “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now.” Steve cries and Bucky pulls him in closer, wrapping his arms around him and pushing Steve’s face to rest in the juncture of his shoulder. Steve’s not too big for that, at least. Bucky speaks into his hair as he tells him, “I’m sorry, baby. I shoulda been there. I didn’t want to leave you alone. I’m so sorry.”

Steve breaks despite himself, a few tears escaping at the corners of his eyes. He tries to suck them back in but it’s no use. Bucky’s heard the sounds he’s making anyway. “Sorry,” he gasps, scrubbing the wetness against Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky takes it in stride, continuing to hold him and whisper against his skin. When Steve calms enough, he pulls back to see Bucky’s face. It’s so strange to be eye-to-eye with him. Bucky’s always been one heart’s throb and a quick glance up, but not anymore. “Everything’s different,” Steve murmurs, afraid of what he might see develop in Bucky’s eyes as he looks at him. “I’m sorr—” 

Bucky’s mouth crashes into his with a sort of violence that Steve’s not prepared for. It makes the words catch in his throat along with his breath. It makes him curl his naked toes against the carpet and grunt and reach to grab Bucky’s shoulders to balance himself from falling backwards. Bucky pulls away from the kiss and looks imploringly at Steve. “Don’t. Don’t apologize, Stevie. Not for this.” He kisses him again, more gently. “You’re beautiful. God, _look_ at you.” He takes a step back from Steve and stares, eyes roving up and down his body in a way that makes Steve’s face heat. “Amazing,” he near-whispers. “Are you… how do you feel?”

Steve shrugs, relief flooding him as realization dawns that Bucky doesn’t care about the change. Or at least isn't upset. “I feel fine.” He’s better than fine, really. Nothing in his entire body hurts. He’d taken the forty flights of stairs up to their floor of the tower at a brisk pace without breaking a sweat. “You… you like it?” he asks, needing to hear Bucky flat out say it. “The way I look?”

Bucky nods. “Of course.” His eyes go soft. “You thought I wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, feeling bashful. “I mean you always liked how I looked before. You liked how small I was. So I wasn’t sure.”

Bucky shakes his head and looks at Steve like he’s a regular idiot. “You’re a stupid punk, Rogers,” he mutters as he closes the distance between them again. “Serum hasn’t changed that, I guess.”

The insult is the sweetest thing Bucky could’ve said to him, and Steve smiles at him for it. “Jerk,” he says.

“C’mere.” Bucky pulls him in again, hands grabbing his shoulders and wrapping around him just as sure and as strong as they did when Steve was a buck ten soaking wet. “I love you,” he breathes against Steve’s mouth in between kisses. “I love _you_, every damn part of you. And this body,” At _‘this body’_ he runs his hands down Steve’s ribcage, “is part of you.” His eyes hold nothing but love as he tells Steve, “Small, large, doesn’t matter. I’ll love you till you’re old and full’a wrinkles, baby. Saggy balls and all.”

Steve scoffs at the crude extrapolation, but allows Bucky to come back in and part his lips with a slip of tongue. “Mmph,” he says, after Bucky’s kisses turn urgent and Steve can feel his briefs—well, _Bucky’s_ briefs, actually—growing tight. “Oh, Buck,” he says. “Bucky, can we…”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, pulling away. He takes Steve’s hand and brings it up, brushes lips against the backs of his knuckles, like a knight kissing a princess. Steve blushes mightily. Bucky drops his hand and walks backwards until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sinks down, nodding at Steve where he stands. “You still look as good as ever in my clothes.”

Steve’s lips twist. “A little tighter than I remember ‘em.” He used to like feeling enveloped by Bucky’s clothes, wearing his old teeshirts down to the knees like nightgowns. Shyly, he peeks up at Bucky. “You want to see?” he asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “‘Course I want to see, you dumb punk. Come on now, give me a show.” Steve grins. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of the shirt, fingers curling in the fabric before pulling it up over his head. He loses sight of Bucky for the barest of seconds, but the sound of Bucky’s inhale is loud and clear. Steve tosses the shirt aside. Bucky is staring at him with undisguised heat in his eyes. “Baby,” he breathes. “Christ, look at you.”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You’ve said that about five times now.”

“Shut up.” Bucky nods at him. “You’re huge. Muscles… god.”

Steve wets his lips, enjoying the way Bucky is looking at him. Now that he knows Bucky isn’t upset by the enormity of the change, Steve is feeling a little thrilled. “Yeah,” he breathes, running his palms over the tops of his thighs, then up to his abs. “Like you.”

“Like me, yeah. Hell, maybe better.”

Steve snorts. He’ll never be better than Bucky, _never_. In Steve’s eyes, Bucky is and always will be perfection—a strong, handsome hero. Steve never wants to match up to him. “You think I could beat you in a fight?” he asks, voice light but full of mischief, which of course Bucky picks up on.

His eyes shoot up from perusing Steve’s body, to his face. He grins at him like a shark. “I dunno. We should test it out, huh? See what this big new body of yours can do.”

_Oh_, but that makes heat pool low in Steve’s gut. “Yeah,” he breathes, wanting so badly to palm himself through the sweats. He’s got a boner that’s very visible. “Yeah we should test it out. Maybe right now.”

Bucky’s grin widens. “You want to fight me, Sugar?”

_Fuck_. Bucky’s fucking pet names from the forties. Every time he says them, Steve wishes he’d known him back then. “Yeah,” he says. His fingers find the waistband of the sweats and push down. He steps out of them and watches Bucky’s reaction at that much more skin being bared. 

“Your fuckin’ thighs,” he groans.

Steve laughs. “You’re one to talk. Maybe I’ll put you in a headlock with ‘em, huh?”

Bucky growls and surges up from the bed, pulls Steve into his arms and slants their mouths together in their filthiest kiss yet. Steve moans into it and jolts his hips forward, barely-clothed dick rubbing against the rough fabric of Bucky’s tac suit. “You’re still dressed,” he pants when he gets away from Bucky’s mouth. “S’not a fair fight.”

Bucky snickers and holds him by the back of the neck with his metal hand. He cups Steve through the fabric of his underwear with the other. “Wearing my shorts, Doll?”

Steve shivers and nods. “Mine didn’t fit.”

“Guess not.” Bucky’s hand curls over the line of his dick, stroking. “Not with what you’re packing.”

Steve groans, turned on and yet somehow mortified by that. “Bucky—”

“Shh, s’okay,” Bucky whispers, kissing at his jaw and continuing to rub him. “I’m excited to see. You think I can get my mouth around it, now?”

“Fuck,” Steve whimpers. He nods, fast. “Yeah, yeah Buck. You can.”

Bucky chuckles darkly. His metal fingers tangle in the back of his hair and give a firm yank. It makes Steve moan in surprise. “We’ll see,” he says, then releases him. He takes a step back and nods for Steve to finish getting undressed. “Show me.”

Steve’s fingers are trembling the slightest bit as he pulls the underwear off. He tosses them aside and meets Bucky’s eyes bravely. He knows he’s big now. And not just his cock, either. His balls too. Everything. Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. In front of him, Bucky looks like his mouth is practically watering. “Fuck, Steve,” he says. “That’s fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky’s eyes flick up from his cock to his face. “Yeah.” His hands fly for his own clothes, but he pauses before he’s halfway through removing his holsters. “Shit. I’m filthy.”

“I don’t care,” Steve blurts.

Bucky looks unconvinced. “I gotta shower. Fuck.” He grits his teeth and finishes taking off his last holster. “Fuck.”

“No, don’t,” Steve says. He comes forward and pulls Bucky back against him, sticks his nose in the hollow of Bucky’s throat and inhales the scent of him—adrenaline and smoke and sweat. “I like it. Stay like this.” His eyes flick up. “Take me like this. Don’t even take your clothes off.”

The way that Bucky’s eyes darken at the request is amazing. “Yeah?” he asks. “You want me to fuck you dirty?”

Steve nods. “You’re filthy. Post-mission. You obviously won some sort of battle.” He stares heatedly at Bucky, then leans in and gives him the barest press of a kiss. He pulls back and says, “To the victor go the spoils.”

Bucky exhales harshly. “Fuck.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“We haven’t fought.”

Steve grins and nips at Bucky’s chin. “Then fight me. I promise to lose.”

Bucky moans, and the speed with which he moves to grab Steve is alarming. Steve gasps at the unforgiving grip of Bucky’s metal hand as it grabs his wrist. Bucky’s spinning him around, trying to grab him around his middle and throw him. Steve counteracts before he even knows what he’s doing, grabbing Bucky’s forearm and tugging away, turning back around to face him and taking him down to the floor with a burst of energy. Bucky grunts loudly as his back hits the floor and Steve lands on top of him. He looks up at Steve, surprised. Steve grins down. “That all you got?” He slots one of his thighs between Bucky’s and pushes against him, feeling his erection beneath his pants. “Thought you were tougher than that,” Steve goads. “Guess the Winter Soldier’s not all he’s cracked up to b—_ah!_”

Bucky locks him in a hold and flips them over so that he’s on top, the both of them panting in each other’s faces. “You were saying?” he huffs.

Steve shoves him to the side and rolls to his feet before Bucky can pin him again. Bucky jumps up, and they pace each other. “Thought you were gonna lose?” Bucky says, sounding gruff, though his eyes are shining in delight.

“Thought you liked a challenge,” Steve retorts, quickly dodging to the side as Bucky lunges for him. He laughs breathlessly and evades him another time, and then again, gaining confidence with each pass. “Come on Buck,” he teases, “Try a little harder.”

He barely has the words out of his mouth when Bucky suddenly moves faster and deadlier than before. He gets Steve in only a second, metal arm hooked around his neck from behind and flesh hand tangled in his hair to pull his head back, one leg hooked around Steve’s leg to keep him off balance. Steve hisses at the grip on his hair, both of his hands coming up to grasp at Bucky’s metal arm. But it’s no use; the arm is too strong. He struggles to break away, but unlike before, now Bucky is just too damn immovable. Steve stills in his fight, flushed from adrenaline and arousal, and realizes that Bucky was pulling his punches—he’s much stronger than Steve and he’s sure as hell faster. “God,” Steve gasps, and the sound is almost a moan. Bucky is so _solid_ behind him, his arms containing him, fierce and in control, as if Steve’s an easily-conquered enemy combatant. 

All of the fight leaves him and is replaced by sudden, desperate need. “Bucky,” he moans, pulling against his hold just so that he can feel it more solidly. Fuck, but he wishes Bucky would squeeze harder with his metal arm. “Oh,” Steve breathes. “Please, _yes_.”

Bucky growls and shoves him to the bed, bending him forcefully over the mattress. Steve’s face is smooshed into the covers. He turns his head and gasps in air. “Fuck.” He pushes against Bucky, fighting to get up and thrilling when Bucky lets it be an actual struggle. Bucky grunts with the effort of holding him, but after a few furious seconds of pushing and pulling, Steve falls back down flat to the bed. Bucky is panting behind him. “Stay down,” he grits, shoving Steve for good measure. 

Steve’s cock throbs. “Make me,” he says, fighting some more. Just a little more. He relishes the way that Bucky shoves harder, pushes him down, grabs his wrists and squeezes hard enough to bruise. “Fuck,” Steve whimpers. He’s wanted this for years, is the thing. Bucky’s being rough with him now, rough in the way that Steve has always wanted it to be, the way he’s always insisted to Bucky that he could handle. And now he’s getting it, and it’s like a dream. “Bucky, please,” he pants. The fabric of Bucky’s uniform is abrasive against his skin and he loves that too. He pushes back into it, rubbing his ass against the front of his tac pants. “Please, please. Take me.”

Bucky groans and huffs hot breath against the back of his neck. “Stay down,” he growls, giving Steve’s wrists one last punishing squeeze and push down into the bedcovers. Steve whimpers and nods, fighting not to squirm as Bucky pulls back and undoes his fly. Steve can hear the pull of the Velcro, of the zipper, and then Bucky is leaning away and Steve hears the roll of the bedside table’s drawer. He swallows heavily, waiting for the slick to come.

It does. One long, lewd squeeze from the bottle coming with a squelch and landing cold and wet at the top of Steve’s ass. He inhales sharply at the feeling of it. “Shh,” Bucky says, tossing the bottle away and dragging his fingers down through the mess, smearing the lube into his crack. He pushes his metal hand against the back of Steve’s neck again, holding him down roughly. “Just take it, now.”

“Take _what?_” Steve taunts, though his breathlessness gives him away. He jerks under Bucky’s hold. “Doesn’t seem so big anymore next to mine.”

Bucky’s metal hand tightens on Steve’s neck as he presses one finger inside of him. Steve hisses, and Bucky chuckles darkly. “Punk. I’ll make sure you feel it.”

Steve moans and stops talking then, focusing on the feeling of Bucky pumping his finger into him. The easy glide of one soon becomes two, and Steve works his hips against the mattress as his body accommodates the intrusion. 

“That feel good, Sweetheart?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods his forehead against the sheets. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Mmhm. I can tell from the way you’re rubbing off on the bed, there,” Bucky says. “Want me to curl ‘em?”

Steve nods faster, whining despite himself. “Yeah.”

Bucky fucks the fingers into him, _hard_. On Steve’s neck, his metal hand squeezes. “Ask like you really mean it, then.”

_God_. 

Steve’s insides clench tight with desire at the forcefulness in Bucky’s voice, the dominance. “Please,” he pants, unable to stop his hips from keeping up that steady grind on the mattress. “Please curl your fingers, Buck. Touch it, do it.” Bucky does, and Steve moans lowly at the pleasure that lights up in his spine. “Fuuck, yeah.” Bucky’s barely thrusting, just rubbing over that spot, over and over. “Oh, oh,” Steve pants, hands clawing into the sheets, trying so hard to keep them where Bucky told him to. “Yeeeah.”

“Just like I thought,” Bucky says smugly, leaning down over him to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. “You fight so hard, but you want it bad, don’t you?”

Steve whimpers, nodding desperately and needing Bucky to touch him, take him, keep him. “Always,” he gasps, feeling Bucky’s fingers inside of his body, his cock freed from his pants and pressing against his ass. “I always want you, Bucky.”

Bucky pulls his fingers out all of a sudden, then it’s his cockhead that he’s holding to Steve’s entrance, Steve can tell. His breath hits warm and shivery at Steve’s neck, where he kisses him and whispers, “Me too, Stevie. Always.”

Steve’s groaning before he even pushes in, overwhelmed and so, so in love with him. He feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes as Bucky sinks into him. “Fuck,” he whispers against the sheets, gritting his teeth against the burn in his ass and the ache in his heart. It feels so good. “I love you,” he gasps, when Bucky’s all the way in and just pulsing his hips there until Steve says he’s ready. “I love you so much.”

Bucky rubs his face in Steve’s neck and worms his flesh arm underneath Steve’s chest, the flat of his palm settling over his heart. “I know,” he says, and the calm assurance of his voice is everything Steve has ever wanted to hear from him. This is what he needed.

“Move,” he says, pleading, and Bucky listens. He pulls out and pushes back in, thrusting deep and slow, not rushing anything despite how rough this had started out. He’s not being rough now. 

“Feel good?” he asks as he moves, mouthing over Steve’s shoulder and neck, his own breath coming in shaky exhales.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “So good, Buck. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Bucky hums against his skin, fucking him a little harder, telling him, “You’re so gorgeous Stevie. Were then, are now. I’ll always want you, okay?”

Steve’s moans, his whole body feeling so hot, so _alive_ he can hardly stand it. “Yes,” he gasps, pushing back against Bucky and feeling the pleasure in his belly coil tighter. “Oh, Bucky, Bucky.”

“Yeah, Doll,” Bucky encourages, rolling his hips steadily. “That’s it. You getting close?”

“Mmhm,” Steve agrees, voice a pleasured warble. He’s never had trouble coming just from being fucked. The friction he’s getting from his cock being pressed against the bed like this is nice, but not necessary. Bucky’s going to get him there just from being inside him. Steve _is_ close, and he moans his assent to let Bucky know. “So good,” he slurs, hips working back against Bucky. “Gonna come.”

Bucky hums lowly, kissing his neck and scraping his teeth over the skin there. “Good boy, Stevie,” he pants. “I want to feel it. You gonna let me feel it?”

Steve nods, whimpering and squeezing his eyes shut as he feels his balls drawing up tight. “Oh!” he shouts, feeling that sharp edge of pleasure cut through him as he reaches his climax. “Oh, oh _shiiit_—” He cuts off in a stuttering moan, nearly sobbing at the end from how _good_ it is. 

“So _fucking_ perfect,” Bucky is panting, fucking him harder now that he knows Steve has come. His hips slap against the skin of Steve’s ass, the arm that he’s got wound underneath Steve’s chest curling up to grip his shoulder tight. “God, honey,” he’s huffing, grunting against Steve with every thrust. “You’ve got no—_ugh_—got no idea, do ya?” When Steve whimpers in response, Bucky growls and snaps his hips once, twice more. Then he moans long and low, and his hips stutter to a halt as he comes. 

Steve turns over once he knows Bucky’s finished. The move makes Bucky’s cock slip out of him, but he pushes the feeling of loss aside in favor of drawing Bucky into his arms. “C’mere,” he says, needing Bucky closer. Bucky’s still slightly out of breath from his orgasm, so Steve dips down to kiss at his jaw. He runs his lips over the stubble that hasn’t been shaved in two days, murmuring, “I love you.”

Bucky hums. “Love you too.”

Steve smiles where Bucky can’t see. “Thank you for still wanting me,” he whispers. 

Bucky makes a noise of displeasure. “Shut up,” he grunts. “Stupid.”

Steve smiles even more, gripping Bucky tightly and trying not to cry. “Still want to marry me, jerk?”

“You know it, punk.”

“My uh …my ring doesn’t fit anymore,” Steve admits quietly. “S’too small.”

Maybe Bucky can hear how sad Steve is about it, because he calms his breathing and pulls back enough to meet his eyes. “Hey,” he says, hand coming up to hold Steve’s face and make him look at him. “That doesn’t matter, Steve.”

“It’s the ring you proposed to me with,” Steve argues.

“You always were stupidly sentimental,” Bucky murmurs. He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s mouth. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not about the ring, Steve. Just like it’s not about your body.” He looks at him meaningfully. “It’s about _you_. You’re my soulmate.” When Steve shivers at that, Bucky kisses him again. He pulls back and tells him, “We’ll go shopping and get you a new ring, if you want.” His eyes track over Steve’s chest and shoulders and then back up to his face. He smiles. “A new ring to go with this big new body of yours. Sound good?” 

Steve blushes and nods. “Yeah, Buck,” he says. “Sounds real good.”

Bucky sighs, body lax from his orgasm. “Shoulda taken my clothes off,” he says. “I’m a wreck.”

Steve chuckles. “It was hot. Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded I’ve got a supersoldier boyfriend who wants to fuck me silly after missions.”

Bucky scoffs, but Steve can tell he’s pleased. “I bet I stink.”

“You do.” Steve cackles at the vindictive pinch he gets. “Want me to scrub you down?” he asks.

“Mm, yeah. That sounds good. I’m not sure I have the energy to do it myself.”

Steve hums. “Bath or shower?”

“You pick.” Bucky kisses him. “I trust you.”

Steve runs them a bath.

.oOo.

July, 2019

After Steve spends the night in TJ’s bed, things shift between them. It becomes easier for Steve to be around him. He doesn’t know exactly why. Perhaps, he thinks, it’s because he can sort of view TJ as his own person. It makes him seem even less like Bucky and Steve doesn’t wind up thinking of his late husband every single time he’s around TJ. 

It also helps that he starts to notice differences—both physical and personality-wise. TJ likes sweet, doughy foods and avoids things that Bucky would’ve gobbled up; things like eggs and cheese and potato chips. He likes to listen to music and Steve catches him dancing in place in the living room a time or two. Bucky had the musical appreciation of a deaf man and the rhythm of a cow. And after one less-than-productive sparring session with Sam, it becomes very clear that TJ doesn’t share Bucky’s old enthusiasm for physical pursuits. The differences in TJ’s personality intrigue Steve and make him more curious about what TJ could be like if he had a real life outside of the tower. 

… They also make him have funny, warm feelings when he’s around TJ. But he pretends they don’t.

Over breakfast one morning Steve has the startling realization that TJ’s eyes are a different color than Bucky’s; his eyes are flat out grey, whereas Bucky’s had been blue. Steve doesn’t quite understand that one, as he knows that TJ is literally a genetic copy of Bucky. Or at least he’s supposed to be.

He brings it up with Bruce the next time he sees him. They’re in Tony’s workshop, Steve to fool around with Tony’s 3D printer and Bruce to do something scientific which Steve only partly understands. He asks Banner, “How do you think it is that TJ has physical differences from Bucky?”

Bruce looks up from what he’s doing with his microscope. “Physical differences?”

Steve nods. “He’s got wavier hair. His eyes are grey and Bucky’s were blue. And I’m pretty sure TJ’s allergic to shellfish (they’d had an interesting night after Steve had made shrimp scampi for dinner the week previous). “Bucky wasn’t allergic to anything. How is that possible if he’s supposedly Bucky’s clone?”

“Allergies aren’t necessarily genetic. They’re environmentally-triggered.”

“But what about the other stuff? His hair and eyes?”

Bruce looks stumped. He screws up his face and says, “Huh, good point,” then goes back to looking through his microscope. Steve figures Bruce has no idea, and so he goes back to figuring out how to print out a plastic spoon. About five minutes of silence later, Bruce starts speaking without looking up from his work. “Well,” he says, “Bucky had that serum. The one you have.”

“Mine’s different somehow,” Steve corrects. “Some knock-off version they uncovered in Russia.”

“Right, but the serum Bucky had; it altered his strength and other capabilities. It could be that some physical attributes were changed as well. Did Bucky ever mention anything like that?”

Steve squints. “Um…” he’d talked extensively with Bucky about his life before the war, before Hydra. It’d been fascinating to Steve, to hear about how Bucky had had a life throughout the twenties and thirties and—well, _some of_—the forties. Then Hydra had happened, and Bucky had never liked to talk about that. Steve thinks back to the few old photographs he’d seen of Bucky. They’d been in black and white, but Steve thinks that he remembers Bucky’s hair being wavy like TJ’s in the pictures. “Wow,” he says. “Actually yeah. He did look different.”

Bruce hums. “Well then I guess that would explain it. TJ _is_ a genetic copy of Bucky, pre-serum.”

Steve gets it, and the new knowledge somehow it makes it ache a little less the next time he sees TJ.

.oOo.

TJ has another nightmare, and then another, and another. Eventually they become almost a nightly occurrence, and Steve is losing sleep from all the times he has to go into TJ’s room and wake him up. So when he has another nightmare and Steve finds himself sitting on the bed and shushing TJ’s cries with soothing pats on the back, he asks, “Do you think it’d help if I stayed in here with you?”

TJ blinks, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You mean like before? Sleep in here?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t have any bad dreams when you did that,” TJ acknowledges. He seems to think about it for a long moment, and then he nods his head shyly. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that. …If it’s okay with you.”

Steve swallows. He wants to help TJ and honestly he needs to get a full night of sleep soon or else he’s going to go out of his mind. He doesn’t think he can take one more incidence of Jarvis waking him up over his room’s audio system. So he nods. “Okay then. I’ll just come in here and go to bed with you for a while. See if that helps.” He thinks about how inappropriate that sounds and hurriedly adds, “Just as your friend you know. I promise I’ll keep to my side of the bed and all.”

TJ blushes and it’s kind of adorable. “Yeah, course.”

The next night, Steve puts his pajamas on and goes to tuck himself into the very edge of TJ’s bed. TJ goes a whole week without having a nightmare.

.oOo.

The next time TJ wakes up screaming, Steve is right there to comfort him. He grabs TJ by the shoulders and brings him into his body in a tight hold. TJ is distraught as usual when he comes to, but Steve just shushes him and hugs him through it, rubbing a soothing hand over his back and telling him he’s okay, he’s safe.

When he pulls back and TJ kisses him, Steve doesn’t know what to do. TJ’s lips are warm and soft against his own and it feels better than it should. Steve hasn’t kissed anyone in two years. He separates them and looks worriedly into TJ’s eyes. His grey eyes. “TJ…” he says, faltering when he can’t think of what to say. “I can’t. You… you shouldn’t.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” TJ blurts. He looks hungry for Steve, wanting. “At the facility we weren’t allowed to touch. Not anybody. The guards would… they’d separate us if we even tried to hug one another.” He looks sadly at Steve. “I tried to hug Natash— I mean 33684, a few times.” He blushes and looks down at the bed covers. “Not in a sexual way, just… we were friends you know? She was the closest thing I had to a family.”

Steve feels like his heart is sinking at this. “You weren’t allowed to have _any_ contact?”

“No.”

That sounds awful, Steve thinks. Surely it can’t be healthy for a person to go without _any_ human contact their whole life. “Jeeze TJ, I’m so sorry. That sounds very lonely.”

TJ just shrugs. “S’just how it was.” He looks up and meets Steve’s eyes again. “I’m sorry I kissed you. I don’t know what I was thinking I just…” he looks at Steve pleadingly. “I’m attracted to you. A lot.”

“TJ…”

“I’m sorry I can’t help it. You’re really good looking and I spend all my time with you. And you’re _nice_.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to blush. “I don’t know what to say. TJ I just… you’re _him_. It’s not right for me to—”

“I’m _not_ him,” TJ says. Now he looks angry. “I’m so sick of you saying that. I’m me. I might not be very interesting or have much a life yet, but I picked my own name and I didn’t pick ‘Bucky’.” He glares at Steve. “Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see _me_?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He can’t deny TJ’s words. He’s right. Deep down Steve knows that he is. And less deep down, he knows he’s attracted to TJ too. It’s just more disturbing to him because he has to figure out if this is just his sorry attempt to get his husband back. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I get it. You’re your own person. I should see it. I _do_ see it.” He reaches out and cups the side of TJ’s face in his hand. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

TJ is leaning his face into Steve’s touch. He looks desperate for it. “Will you let me kiss you?” he asks.

Steve sighs, frustrated and confused. He can’t deny that TJ is beautiful. In his own way even. Is it wrong for Steve to want him? He just doesn’t know. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he winds up saying. He _hates_ the way his words make TJ’s face melt in disappointment. But he doesn’t take it back. “You’ll find other people that you’re attracted to,” he tells him gently. “Just give it some time okay?”

TJ looks sad but he nods. He pulls away from Steve’s touch, scooting farther back to his side of the bed. “Okay,” he says quietly. Then he lays down and closes his eyes. “Goodnight Steve.”

Steve wants so badly to say “I’m sorry.” The words are in the back of his mouth, pressing to get out, but he forces them back down with a heavy swallow. “Goodnight TJ,” he whispers.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September, 2014—Christ the Savior Church, Brooklyn
> 
> August, 2019—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

September, 2014

Bucky steps forward and puts his hands on Steve’s waist—a waist that is much bigger than it used to be—and pulls him close. Steve is smiling at him. “Sure you want to do this?” he teases. “Still time to back out.” 

Bucky grins. “Punk.” He presses their lips together, making the kiss firm and lingering. When he pulls back, he says, “There. Sealed with a kiss.” Steve beams, and a little ways away in the old church, eight people clap. 

-

Bucky had wanted to have the ceremony in a church. He said it was because he was from a simpler time. _“Any guy that was decent would marry their gal in a church wedding.”_ Never mind that Bucky wasn’t marrying a ‘gal’ at all. Bucky’s old-fashioned values made Steve roll his eyes just as much as they warmed his heart. “Okay,” he’d said. “Okay. Church wedding it is.”

There was a Methodist chapel in Brooklyn, small and old; beveled grey stone on the outside and dark wood pews inside, worn shiny and smooth from a hundred fifty years’ use. Even though Bucky never said it, Steve knew why he wanted to have the wedding there. The church had a placard out front, detailing it as an historic landmark. _Est. 1863._ That meant the church had been there when Bucky was young, just down the street from where his old tenement had been. It was probably one of the only familiar sights left in Brooklyn for Bucky. 

They book the church for a Friday afternoon. It’s absolutely plain inside, their handful of guest up in the very front pew. There are no flowers, no music, none of that. Though they could afford a fancy wedding with tons of embellishments, they don’t bother. Neither Bucky or Steve is concerned with that sort of thing. It’s being with each other that matters. The fact that they’re getting to do this at all. 

Standing at the altar, Steve is utterly enamored of Bucky. He’s wearing a cornflower blue suit and his hair is cut short. Steve’s never known Bucky with short hair, but he finds that he likes it on him. They say their vows in front of the minister, and then exchange their rings. Bucky’s is black tungsten, Steve’s white gold. Steve feels like his whole world slots into place when the minister says, _“I now pronounce you wedded husbands.”_ They share the first kiss of their married life together.

After, Pepper, Rocket, Darcy, Bruce, Wanda, Nat, Sam and Clint all clap and pull them in for hugs and congratulations. Steve blushes at all the attention, but Bucky soaks it up. Antisocial as Bucky is, Steve knows that he loves them all. They’re his family. And now, Steve supposes they’re his, too. “Thanks guys,” Bucky says. “Thanks for coming.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Sam says. “Congratulations you guys. You both deserve it.” 

Pepper comes forward for her turn to hug Bucky, and then Steve. “You look wonderful, Steve. I’m happy for you,” she says. “Tony’s going to be sorry he missed this.” 

Steve hears Bucky and Rocket snort, but he shrugs at Pepper. “I think there are a couple dozen kids at a Sokovian hospital who would disagree.” Iron Man stopping in for a visit was no small thing, especially when you were ten years old. “I’m glad he went, Pep.”

“Besides, he never would have stood for this setup,” Sam says. “You’d be getting married in the Sistine chapel, if he had anything to say about it.”

Pepper smiles and gives Steve a kiss on the cheek. Bucky appears at Steve’s side and slings an arm—his metal one—around his waist. “Hands off,” he says. “This is a married man.” 

Pepper smirks. “Of course.”

Rocket’s talking with Clint and Darcy about weddings in general. It’s his first _“Earth wedding,”_ and he’s been intrigued by the process ever since Bucky and Steve announced their engagement months ago. Bucky tells everyone that they’ve only rented the church for the one hour, so they have to head out. They eat dinner at an Italian restaurant, and then Steve and Bucky bid everyone goodbye and head for the airport.

-

“Where do you think they think we are?” Bucky asks Steve. 

Steve looks over from his spot in the hot tub. There’s steam rising all around them from the temperature difference. “Probably some island,” he says. “Fiji, the Bahamas.”

Bucky snorts. “Naw, I say Europe. They’d count on your love of art.”

Steve smiles. “We are in Europe.”

“I know.” Bucky grins, sliding over closer to Steve in the water. “But I betcha’ they’d never guess here.” 

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. They think you hate the cold.”

“I only hate it when I don’t have you to keep me warm.”

_Aw_. Steve’s heart goes a little gooey at hearing that. Beneath the water, his hand finds Bucky’s and squeezes. “Love you.”

Bucky squeezes back. “Love you too.” They both relax and tilt their heads back up towards the green, glowing sky.

They’re in the wilderness of Iceland, in a hot tub just outside of a glass igloo underneath the Northern Lights. There are other igloos just barely visible in the near distance, but even still, Steve is pretty confident that Bucky has managed to find the most secluded hotel room in the world. It’s certainly the most romantic.

“Come on,” he says, leaning over to peck a kiss to Bucky’s wet shoulder. “Let’s go inside.”

Bucky lays him down on the bed after their shower, crawling over him to press his body down into the soft bedding. Steve cradles the sides of his face as they make out, humming in pleasure every few moments, especially when Bucky slips his tongue in. Steve is hard. He can feel Bucky’s erection between their bellies, too. Pulling back from the kiss, Steve locks eyes with Bucky and nods. “I’m ready, Buck. Come on. Don’t want to wait anymore.” It’s their wedding night. Steve just wants to feel Bucky inside him.

Bucky gets the lube they brought and uses it to slick his fingers. He opens Steve up so slowly, making him feel every gentle thrust, every calculated curl against his prostate. Each time Steve starts to whimper or complain for him to hurry up, Bucky kisses him quiet. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Just enjoy it.”

Steve pants as he endures Bucky opening him up on two fingers, and then three. By the time Bucky takes his hand away and replaces it with his cock, Steve is shaking and leaking against his stomach. “I could’ve come like that,” he tells Bucky breathlessly as he penetrates him. 

Bucky sinks in all the way, resting on his forearms over Steve. “Yeah?” He dips to kiss him. “Well as much as that strokes my ego, I want to feel you comin’ on my cock.”

Steve groans and nods. “Okay, yeah.”

Bucky’s started moving; small, shallow thrusts, hardly pulling out halfway before pushing back in. Steve shivers and clutches at his back. He always feels so good when Bucky’s inside him, so full. This time is no different. “Oh,” he breathes, tilting his hips up, hooking his legs over the backs of Bucky’s thighs. “Bucky, yesss.”

Bucky fucks him a little harder then, angling his hips just right to get Steve moaning like crazy. He jerks him off, too, and keeps doing that until Steve’s body pulses around him and he spills his release over his hand. Bucky comes a few thrusts later, and he pulls out and they waste another twenty minutes kissing each other as their breathing calms down. 

Bucky winds up holding Steve against his side, the both of them staring up through the glass ceiling at the northern lights. “I love you more than anything,” Bucky murmurs when Steve has almost drifted off to sleep. 

“Mm,” he hums. “Me too.”

“Promise you’ll never leave me,” Bucky says quietly, like he’s baring a part of himself he’s never shown anyone before. “You’re everything to me, Stevie. Say we’ll always be together.”

Steve’s heart clenches as he looks over at Bucky and sees the look in his eyes. Bucky has been through so much in his life, has had so much taken away from him. It’s no surprise that he’d be afraid of losing another good thing. It makes Steve wants to give him so much. “I’ll always be with you Buck,” he tells him, turning in towards him for a kiss. “Promise. Till the end of the line.”

Bucky smiles softly and holds him tight against his side, both of them staring up at the illuminated sky. It’s perfect, and they fall asleep that way.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

August, 2019

Steve is working on his latest painting when he hears a knock come at the door to his studio. He glances around the canvas. “TJ” he says, surprised. TJ’s never come into his studio before. 

“Hey,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Steve puts his paintbrush down. He watches as TJ looks curiously about the room that is his studio.

“This is neat,” he says. He goes over to a stack of Steve’s paintings and drawings and looks through them. Steve winces but says nothing. A lot of them are of Bucky. “Oh,” TJ says, sounding shocked as he sees them.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

“…No it’s okay.” TJ keeps looking. “Wow. He really did look like me, didn’t he?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. He did.”

“It’s so strange,” TJ muses. “To think there was a copy of me walking around all these years.” He abandons the paintings and walks over to Steve. “To think I was created just so they could use me for replacement parts.”

“TJ…”

“S’okay.” TJ waves him off. “I’ve gotten over it. It’s horrible, yes, but at least I’ve got the consolation that he didn’t now about it. That he wasn’t okay with it.” He shrugs. “I heard a lot of people are being put in jail—people who consciously contracted with Genocorp to make clones of themselves.”

Steve shakes his head in disgust. “They deserve to be in jail.”

“Hm, yeah.” TJ diverts his attention to the canvas that Steve is currently working on, and the reference picture he has by its side. “Wow,” he says, eyes immediately filling with wonder. “What’s that?”

Steve smiles at him. “Something called the Northern Lights.”

“The what?” TJ looks confused. “I… I don’t know what that is.” He looks back to the canvas. “Is that the sky?”

“Yeah. The northern lights are a natural phenomenon that occurs in the sky near the northern pole of the earth.”

“It’s beautiful,” TJ says. He looks down, sheepish. “I guess this is another thing that regular people know about, huh?”

Steve can sense TJ’s sadness. He reaches out and places his hand over his. “You’ll learn,” he comforts. “It’s just going to take some time.”

“Hmph.” TJ pulls his hand back to himself, and though it hurts Steve’s feelings, he lets him. TJ looks back around the studio. “So this is your job. You make money doing this?”

Steve snorts. “Not much.” When TJ raises a questioning eyebrow he elaborates, “This is my hobby. I do commissions when I can. But my real income comes from teaching. I teach art history and mixed-media composition at a local college.”

TJ nods. “Oh.” His brow wrinkles in thought. “Schools; they’re ordered elementary, middle, high school and then college right?”

“Um, yeah.” 

“Huh.” TJ twiddles his fingers. “I wonder what I’ll ever do for a job. That is if I’m ever qualified to have one.” He looks down, twisting his lips sadly. “I don’t exactly know how to do anything.” 

Steve frowns. It hits him all of a sudden, how limited TJ’s knowledge of the world is. “You’ve only been alive for three years?”

“Conscious for three,” TJ corrects. “Alive for ten.”

The difference is ridiculous either way, but Steve nods. “Did they… I mean in the facility did you ever go to school?”

TJ blushes. “We didn’t have school.”

Steve doesn’t know how to approach his next question, so he just flat-out asks, “TJ, can you read?”

“Look I know you must think I’m incredibly stupid but I’m—”

“No! I don’t think that.” Steve shakes his head. “I just wondered is all.”

TJ huffs, but he does say, “No. I can’t read. My social worker said she’d arrange for a tutor though.” He looks at Steve defiantly. “They tested us at adult services. I have a normal IQ you know.”

“I didn’t think you didn’t,” Steve says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just… you know so little about the world. I want to help you but I can’t do that if I don’t know where you stand.”

“You… do you mean that? You want to help?”

“Yeah.” Steve bites his lip, picks his paintbrush up and looks back to his canvas so he doesn’t have to stare at the excited look that TJ is giving him. “I was thinking we could go out,” he says. “Explore the city.”

“Steve!” TJ exclaims. “I would love that!”

“Yeah?”

TJ scoffs. “I’ve been cooped up in this tower for weeks! Of course I want to get out and see things. The internet and Jarvis can only show me so much you know.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So can we go out today?” TJ asks excitedly.

Steve chuckles. “Let me work on this for a bit more okay? It’s late already, but maybe we can go out for dinner. Would you like that?”

TJ beams. “You mean eat in a restaurant?!”

“Yeah.”

“Hell yes!” TJ pumps his fist, which makes Steve laugh again at his enthusiasm. “Gonna eat in a restaurant,” TJ says. “So cool.”

If Steve’s heart gets all warm and gooey at pleasing TJ with such a simple thing, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

.oOo.

Time flies as Steve starts to take TJ out and about more frequently. Their first trip to a restaurant is pretty uneventful. TJ doesn’t know how to read so Steve has to help him select something from the menu, but other than that it goes smoothly. They have a nice dinner and Steve promises to show TJ lots of other things.

In two weeks they manage to cram in visits to the Met, the national history museum, Broadway, Times Square and Central park. Steve gets a kick out of seeing TJ’s eyes go wide at things that only a child would find fascinating. He is like a child in some ways, Steve has to remind himself. It’s bittersweet to watch, since TJ’s ignorance only serves to remind Steve of how cruelly deprived he’s been his whole life. Still, the trips into the city are fun, and Steve finds himself feeling closer to TJ. And when TJ moves in for hugs and simple touches, eventually Steve finds himself providing them. It feels nice. He tries not to let it show too much, but he’s secretly becoming more and more enamored with TJ by the day. And if it makes him feel guilty when he’s by himself, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

.oOo.

It’s early in the afternoon and Steve and TJ are at Coney Island. TJ’s over at a nearby hotdog stand, practicing the use of money to purchase them each a hotdog and soda. When he returns to where Steve is leaning against the boardwalk railing, it’s with a triumphant smile. “I did it,” he says proudly. “Five dollars and thirty six cents.” 

Steve smiles and takes his hotdog from him. “Good job.”

“Money’s not so hard to figure out,” TJ says. “Even though Tony said everyone uses credit card nowadays.” He takes a chomp out of his hotdog, which he’s left plain because he’s mostly still unfamiliar with condiments. His eyes go wide. “Oh m’god,” he says through his mouthful. “So good!” He beams at Steve. “Can we have these for dinner at home, please?”

Steve takes a bite of his own hotdog and laughs. “Sure TJ. Whatever you want.”

TJ’s eyes focus in on Steve’s face. His eyes widen, then get a little darker. “You’ve got, um…” he swallows, steps closer. “Ketchup on your mouth.”

“Where?” Steve swipes at his mouth. “I get it?”

“No, uh, here.” TJ steps close and reaches up with his thumb. He carefully swipes at the corner of Steve’s mouth. It pulls away with red on it, and he sucks it into his mouth. Steve feels his stomach clench at the sight of TJ’s lips sucking on the digit. Maybe TJ can tell, because he leans in and hovers his lips only millimeters away from Steve’s own.

“…TJ,” Steve warns.

“Steve,” he purrs back to him. He looks at Steve hotly and then, with a sly grin growing on his face, asks, “Let me have a taste of yours?”

For a hot second, all Steve’s brain can produce is thoughts of sex. But then TJ touches his hand and guides it up. He meets Steve’s eyes as he gently steals his hotdog away and keeps looking at him as he takes a big bite. It shouldn’t be erotic, it _shouldn’t_. But Steve can tell that TJ’s doing it on purpose. “Jesus,” he hisses, grabbing his hotdog back testily. 

TJ just laughs and goes back to his own food. “Don’t get so upset,” he teases, eyes bright. “I only wanted a taste.”

Steve huffs. “I’m so sure.” If his dick twitched in his pants at the way TJ looked at him over that bite of hotdog, that’s nobody’s business but his own.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June, 2017—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan
> 
> October, 2019—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

June, 2017—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

_Wait!_

Steve shoots up to sitting in bed, terrified and confused and gasping as Bucky is ripped away from him, again. It only takes a second for his gasps to turn to sobs as he remembers, again:

Bucky’s gone.

He’s dead. They shot him. He’s never coming back.

There’s the faintest glow of morning light coming in through the bedroom windows. When Steve wipes the tears from his face and looks over to the bedside clock, he sees that it’s five thirty. 

Funeral’s at ten. Doesn’t seem worth it to go back to sleep, even though sleeping is all Steve wants to do for the rest of his life. Sleep or go into a coma or die. Steve sighs, looks over to the empty side of the bed where Bucky <s>sleeps</s> used to sleep. Pain lances through him again, sharp as ever. “Fuck,” he mutters. He just wants to die.

He gets himself up and takes a shower, then goes and makes a cup of coffee. Sam and Clint are passed out on the sofa in the living room, limbs askew and mouths hung open. Clint’s snoring. Steve makes his coffee as silently as possible so he doesn’t wake them, pulling out the bottle of Advil and setting it on the counter in the process. 

They’d all sat around and done shots the night before. Steve had participated, but he doesn’t feel hung over at all. He hasn’t been able to get drunk since the serum. Last night had been the first time he’d ever felt resentment towards Bucky for talking him into it.

He sips his coffee silently, feeling a little numb as time goes on and the sun comes up. But numb is okay, he thinks. He can work with numb, today especially. Sam and Clint wake up with a series of grunts and groans, and Steve can tell by the sounds that they’re very hung over. “Hey,” he says to Sam when he manages to stand up and pad over to the kitchen area. “How’d you sleep?”

Clint makes a sad whining sound from over by the couch. Sam glares at Steve. “Fuck.”

“That bad, huh?”

Sam shuffles over to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup. He shuffles back. “Though I’m guessing I feel about one tenth as bad as you do right now.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Cut it with the wild exaggerations.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam nods, gives Steve that look he’s so good at that somehow says all the things that ‘I’m sorry’ ‘I understand’ ‘I’m here for you’ and a firm hug never could. 

Steve nods back at him. “Thanks, Sam. Thanks for being here. You’re a good friend.” He slides the Advil bottle across the counter in thanks.

Sam makes a ‘psh noise but he does take it and pop two out, swallowing them dry. Behind the couch, Clint makes another pained whimper, still non-verbal. “Nat texted me at like…” he checks his phone. “One am. Ugh.”

Steve snickers.

“She might not make it back in time,” Sam says, tone cautious. “She’s still in the Czech—”

“Yeah,” Steve interrupts. He takes a sip of his still too-hot coffee and winces. He put too much sugar. “I know.”

“She wanted to be here. You know how close she was to him.”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Steve says. “I know. I’m glad she’s over there. She’s doing him a much bigger service over there than she would be at his funeral.” Steve swallows, feeling his throat get tight again as he thinks about it. “I want her to find them. I want her to find who did it and make them hurt.” He stares at his coffee, angry, and says, “I want her to make them hurt for a long time.” 

Sam is quiet at that. He’s always been the type to understand when more words are needed, and when they’re not. He and Steve lean against the kitchen counter together and wait while the noises Clint’s making get louder and more coherent. Eventually his head pops over the top of the couch, messy hair and puffy eyes in view. “Fuuuck,” he groans. Both Sam and Steve snort.

-

There’s no coffin or urn at the funeral because there’s no body. Steve can’t know for sure, but he kind of feels like it makes it easier. There’s a big, framed picture of Bucky instead. It’s one of him when he was young, back before the war and Hyrda and everything else that took pieces of Bucky he didn’t want to give. Other than Steve and Bucky’s wedding photos, it’s the only really nice picture of Bucky in existence, because he’d never let anybody take a formal picture of him after the war. Bucky had hated pictures of himself, and Steve didn’t want to share his wedding pictures with a church full of strangers. Those pictures were _theirs_. They were for Steve and Bucky and nobody else. 

Steve thinks that Bucky looks nice in this one that they’ve got blown up and sitting on display on the altar. He’s in his service uniform and he looks… happy. Young and innocent. Black and white and hair cut in that way that was popular in the forties. Bucky had cut it like that again, just before their wedding. And it’d been inching close to his shoulders again by the time he’d…

It makes Steve sad to see it, but he’s not sure he could feel much worse right now anyhow, so he doesn’t pay it any mind. It’s a nice picture.

He sits next to Bucky’s relatives—his one surviving sister who’s ninety and has emphysema and drags an oxygen tank around with her, and her daughter (Bucky’s niece), who’s nearly seventy. Steve’s only met the women a couple of times, but he knows that it meant a lot to Bucky to have family left, to not be the only one left alive from the world how he’d known it back then. Steve feels guilty for wishing that he could be sitting with Sam and Tony and the others instead. 

The minister gives the eulogy, but then Tony and Sam and Bucky’s sister come up to say their bit. Tony does a remarkable job at keeping himself under control in what he says, probably due in no small part to the fact that Pepper is sitting in the second pew back and watching him with laser eyes. Sam is stoic but sincere, and Bucky’s sister cries so much that someone has to come help her down and back to her oxygen tank.

Then it’s Steve’s turn. He hadn’t wanted to speak, and no one’s making him do it. He’s forcing himself to do it because he feels like he owes it to Bucky. Bucky deserves for everybody to know how much he was loved, and Steve loved him more than anybody else.

“Hi,” he says when he gets up to the lectern, unsettled by how loud his voice comes out through the microphone. He pulls back from it. “Um, hi. I’m… Steve. Steven Rogers-Barnes. Bucky was my husband.” God, using the past tense fucking sucks. It feels _wrong_. “I just wanted to say a little bit about him,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice even and to not meet the eyes of anyone in the packed church. He picks a spot on the back wall and stares at it. “I met Bucky five years ago. I was working at the MET and he uh, well he pretty much saved my life.” Steve huffs and rubs at the back of his neck as he speaks, remembering, “I thought he was scary at the time, but I guess… in an interesting way?” The church echoes with a few sympathetic chuckles, and Steve grits his teeth at being interrupted. He wasn’t trying to be funny. “He asked me out and… that was that. I fell in love with him fast. Inappropriately fast, I think. But the cool thing about Bucky was that on the inside, he was never what you would’ve expected, based on his outside.” Steve blinks, feeling tears pressing at the backs of his eyes again. He inhales sharply to get them under control. “Buck was… well he was a big softie, basically. He never wanted anybody to know that. He’d uh, he’d hate that I said that right now, actually.” Steve smiles watery. “Bucky was kind, and good. And he was that way even after he’d been through… all that he went through. I don’t think many people could’ve done that. Not like he did.” Steve swallows heavily, painfully aware of the church’s silence and all eyes on him, of the random cough or sniffle, shifting of bodies or scuff of shoe. “I uh, I miss him,” Steve says, and _god_ but that’s the hardest thing to say without breaking down. He grits his teeth and resolves not to say that again while he’s up here. “I miss being married to him, spending time with him. He made me laugh. He was the person I could talk to about anything. He was fun to be with. Some people just click, you know? And Bucky and I, we just clicked better than anything. It was… easy, to be with him. It felt right. Um, and he used to take care of me, back when I was sick all the time. He didn’t care. So many people looked right through me back then, back when I was small. But he never did. He _saw_ me. He’s the reason I got the chance to be healthy. We were going to build a future together, a whole life. Bucky was…” Steve inhales through his nose and forces himself to say, “He was my hero. He saved me in so many ways. And now that he’s gone I just wish that—” _I could die, could turn back time, could’ve saved him_ “I just wish he was here.”

Steve cuts it off there, embarrassed and overwhelmed and vaguely aware that he’s doing a horrible job at giving the eulogy. He steps down off the altar with an awkward nod, hands in his pockets, feet taking him all the way down the aisle and straight out of the church. He knows he was supposed to sit back down in the front pew for the rest of the service and then follow the procession to the graveyard, but he doesn’t care.

It’s not like they have anything to bury anyways. 

-

The thing is, Natasha had _told_ Steve. She’d told him exactly what she could do to the people who took Bucky, if Steve wanted. “I don’t have to turn them in,” she’d said, standing on the helipad with Steve, about to get on the jet and depart for Europe to try and track down the killers that no legitimate law enforcement agency had been able to find yet. “When I find them. There doesn’t have to be a trial.” 

“…Bucky has to have justice,” Steve’d muttered, feeling stupid even as he said it. There would never be enough justice, not for what those people took from him. “He has to.” Natasha had leant in and kissed his cheek, told him that she wasn’t talking about plain old murder, and then she’d whispered options in his ear that would make any sane man’s blood curdle. 

And maybe Bucky had just rubbed off on Steve too damned much in the past five years, because he’d kept a blank face and given the go-ahead. “I hope you find them, Nat,” he whispered as he watched the jet take off.

She never had, but it’d been a nice sort of fantasy at the time.

.oOo.

October, 2019—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan 

Things with TJ continue to go smoothly. A month passes, and then two. TJ eventually stops having nightmares, but neither one of them brings up the idea that maybe Steve should go back to sleeping in his own room. Every night Steve brushes his teeth and puts his pajamas on, and then he tucks himself into TJ’s bed. It’s not sexual. 

It’s just that he’s been lonely, Steve decides. He thinks about how he used to have someone in his life to care about, and now he has that again, and yeah, it’s just platonic; just Steve taking care of someone who can’t take care of themselves. That’s all it is. The sleeping together is just to prevent the nightmares. Steve remembers how much Bucky had hated those.

When they tuck in, TJ will yawn, and smile and murmur “g’night,” and then they’ll both fall asleep in their own time. Sometimes Steve will dream about TJ. And it’s actually _TJ_ in the dream and not Bucky, but Steve still kisses him the same and holds him the same like he used to do with his husband, and occasionally he wakes up hard with the taste of kisses on his lips. But they’re just dreams, he tells himself. He can’t control what he dreams. It’s not sexual. 

Sometimes TJ will wiggle across the sheets in the night and when Steve wakes it’s to a snoring mop of brown hair pressed into his chest. When it happens in the night, Steve just holds him tentatively and lets himself enjoy it until he falls back asleep. When it happens in the early morning… he does the same damned thing, even though he could just as easily get up and start his day.  
Sometimes TJ will moan in his sleep and it’s very clearly not a moan of terror, and Steve will have to angle his body away so that—

Fuck. It’s sexual.

-

TJ has a therapist and several tutors. Whatever he does with them, Steve doesn’t know. They come to the tower on weekdays while Steve is working at the college. When Steve gets home, TJ usually has a proud smile and about a dozen things he can’t wait to tell Steve that he’s learned. “School” for TJ is very, very accelerated. So much so that at one point, Steve quietly asks the woman who comes to tutor him in reading if TJ might possibly be a genius.

“I mean, he was reading _Spot the Dog_ last month,” he points out as Sharon’s grabbing her purse and coat off the hooks by the front door. “He just finished the sixth _Harry Potter_ book, for Christ’s sake.”

The woman smirks at him. “My ten year old reads _Harry Potter_.”

“You _know_ what I mean,” Steve says, glancing back briefly to check that TJ’s still on the couch watching _The Walking Dead_—he is. Steve turns back. “It’s just a big jump, is all I’m saying.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Sharon says, shrugging. “He’s a three-year-old clone who was kept in-utero for six years, in the body of a twenty-whatever year old. I’m no scientist, but that’s got to make some difference in how he learns.” When Steve looks dissatisfied at this explanation she just pats him on the shoulder, reassuring him, “Stop overthinking it. He’s doing fine. He’s adapting. That’s all you should care about.” Sharon smirks. “And don’t worry, I won’t have him read _Flowers for Algernon_ any time soon. M’kay?”

It’s a literary joke that Steve doesn’t get until he googles it, and when he does, he doesn’t think it’s funny at all.

.oOo.

Steve spends all his free time taking TJ around the city, showing him new places and things. He even considers taking a sabbatical for the upcoming spring semester. There’s so much more he could show TJ, if they had the time. Steve finds himself thinking about those things in the gray spaces of his days; when he’s tying his shoes, when he’s pumping gas, when he’s stirring the pasta on the stove. He brings it up to TJ one night, flicking the burner off and carrying two plates of fettuccini into the living room where TJ’s made his way into season three of _The Walking Dead_. “Hey,” he says.

Onscreen, someone screams as a zombie starts chewing strings of meat out of their neck, and TJ hurries to pause the show. He looks up at Steve, beaming when he sees the food. “Yum! Thanks.” He takes his portion.

Steve forces his eyes away from the tv. He takes a seat next to TJ. “I’ve been thinking of taking some time off from my job,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. In teaching it’s called a sabbatical.”

“I know,” TJ slurps around a mouthful of pasta.

Steve has to contain his frown at the strange reminder of how fast TJ is learning _everything_. “Uh yeah. Well I thought I’d do it so that we could do more stuff together.”

TJ pauses in his eating. He looks over at Steve. “Like what?”

Steve shrugs. “Well, I don’t know. Like what we do now I guess, just… more. There’s more to the world than just New York, you know.”

TJ nods. “Like L.A.?”

Steve snorts and shakes his head. “There’s more to the world than just New York and L.A.,” he nods at the tv, “Despite what the movies would have you believe.”

TJ get a big, shit-eating grin on his face. “And you want to, what? Show me the world? Carry me off into the sunset?” He sticks another forkful of pasta into his mouth and sits back to watch the blush that Steve’s pretty sure he _knew_ would appear when he said that.

“We could do more stuff,” Steve defends. “Like go on trips, yeah. I’ve traveled some, but there are still a lot of places I’d like to see.”

TJ finishes chewing a mouthful and swallows, looking thoughtful. “Did you go places with Bucky?”

That hits Steve right out of left field. His eyes widen as he stutters out an answer of, “Um, uh, yeah. I—yeah.”

TJ shutters a little. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I won’t make you talk about him.”

Steve frowns. “No,” he decides out loud, firming his resolve and reaching across the coffee table to place his hand atop TJ’s in apology. “It’s okay. You can ask about him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” 

TJ smiles hesitantly. “Kay. Well… what was he um, like?”

Steve inhales deeply and thinks about how to answer that. “He was… he was a good man. Like, deep down. In a way I don’t think many people are anymore.” Steve glances to TJ. “You’ve heard his story? How he was born a long time ago and—”

“Yeah.” TJ nods. “Yeah Jarvis showed me.”

“Oh. Okay. Well he was pretty complicated, because of all he’d been through. He was guarded, rough around the edges. Scared of a lot of things.”

TJ makes a noise of understanding. “The nightmares.”

“Yeah. He had ‘em. Had PTSD pretty bad.” Steve sighs. “It was hard to see him deal with all that. But underneath all of that stuff he was just a normal guy.” Steve smiles a little, thinking about it. “Pretty sweet, actually. Whip-smart. And _definitely_ a dork.”

TJ smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. A huge dork.” Steve laughs. “I remember this one time we went to Comic Con together.” Steve pauses. “You… know what that—”

“_Yes_, I know what it is,” TJ huffs. “We should have a standing rule that you stop checking on what I know. I’ll tell you if I don’t.”

“We had to go in like, hoodies and shades because Bucky actually has comic books about _him_, you know? We could’ve been recognized, which would’ve freaked him out and maybe even caused one of his panic attacks. Definitely would’ve ruined the whole day. I thought it was a stupid risk but Bucky insisted. Even as antisocial as he was, he wanted to go.”

“Why?”

“You ever heard of _Doctor Who_?” 

TJ shakes his head. 

“_Star Wars_?”

“Oh. They’re movies, right?”

“Yeah. Bucky was basically obsessed.” Steve grins. “He wanted to get autographs and see the Q and A sessions.”

“Neat.”

Steve shakes his head. “It was, until we got recognized. Or well, _he_ got recognized.”

“Oh. Shit.”

It’s odd, hearing TJ curse, Steve thinks. He vaguely disapproves. “Yeah. Well luckily it wasn’t anything crazy. Just a guy who came up and asked if Bucky was the Winter Soldier.” Steve shakes his head. “Buck didn’t like that. He made some snarky response about how he’d been a prisoner of war, not some comic book villain, and the guy was really embarrassed. I convinced Bucky to just sign the guy’s _Avengers_ memorabilia and then we left.”

“Bucky didn’t get to see the _Dr. Who_ people?”

“Oh no, he did. I told you: he was a huge dork. He wasn’t leaving without his autographs.” Steve snorts. “He squealed like a teenage fangirl a couple of times. I made fun of him for it forever.” TJ laughs, and the sight of it makes Steve feel happy and content. But he’s wistful, too. Thinking about Bucky is… not something he’s done too much of, not since Clonegate interrupted his life. “I loved him,” Steve says, voice soft. “God, did I love him.”

TJ’s quiet for a long moment, and then he asks, “How did he die?”

Steve sighs, the question somehow not bothering him that much. “You asked if we travelled together?”

“Yeah.”

“We did. A lot, actually. We saw a lot of Europe together, a few countries in Africa and Southeast Asia. It wasn’t always easy because of Bucky’s PTSD, but we managed to have fun.”

“Neat.”

“Yeah, well we were on one of those trips when he died. We were in Prague and men in black showed up at our hotel. Bucky took down a bunch of them with knives and guns I didn’t even know he _had_ on him.” Steve snorts. “Though I should’ve known better. Buck was never unarmed, not if he could help it. He was paranoid that way.” 

“Sounds like he had good reason to be.”

“Yeah.” Steve frowns. “The whole thing is like a blur, now. He was able to get us out of there. We ran somewhere, I don’t remember where, just weaving in and out of city streets, alleyways.” Steve sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “I was yelling, asking Bucky what the hell was going on, since he seemed to know. There was a look in his eyes, like he knew.”

“Did he tell you?”

Steve shakes his head. “There wasn’t time. He just yelled at me to keep running, that we had to move. But more of them came. They cornered us in an alleyway and they took him.”

“Not you?”

“No. He shoved me down and by the time I was on my feet, they were pulling him into a van and slamming the door shut.”

TJ frowns. “And they killed him?”

“They shot him. I saw it.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the images replay in his head, unwanted: the van door sliding shut, Bucky’s shadow through the tinted window, the sounds of shouting and struggling inside the van as Steve banged on the door from the outside, unable to reach him. 

The unbearably loud bang of a gunshot, blood and worse spraying against the glass, Bucky’s silhouette going still just as the van squealed away into the city. Of course, Steve says none of this to TJ. He doesn’t want to upset him. Instead he just says, “So… yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Fuck. Steve… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s really not, and Steve doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so he finishes by telling TJ, “Fury and the team investigated for over a year, but it was like it’d never happened and the men in black didn’t exist. It went cold.” Steve shrugs sadly. “It didn’t really matter to me after a while. Bucky was gone. Nothing could fix that.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Steve tries to offer TJ a smile, though he feels like it must fall at least a little bit flat. “It’s okay, TJ. It’s been over two years. I’ve had time to mourn him.”

“Thank you for telling me,” TJ says softly. “I.. I like to know about you. Even the hard parts, you know?”

That makes something warm and happy resurface in Steve, and he smiles across the coffee table. “You’re not eating,” he says, and nods at TJ’s bowl. “I thought you liked cheesy pasta.”

“I do!” TJ is quick to stuff another big bite in his mouth, then looks pointedly at Steve and slurs some approximation of the word, _See?_.

“God, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

TJ laughs and holds his middle finger up, and that just makes Steve laugh more. They eat in companionable silence for a while after that, until TJ asks, “So you’ll take a sabbatical and we’ll travel?”

Steve nods. “That’s the idea.”

“Where can we go?”

“Anywhere but Prague.” TJ looks thoughtful for a long time, clearly trying to come up with a place to go. Steve suggests, “I’ve been wanting to see more of the US, actually. I’ve never been outside of New York.”

TJ purses his lips. “Yeah, me neither.” He sounds rueful at saying it, like he holds the fact of his ignorance against the people who cloned him. He should, as far as Steve is concerned. 

“I was thinking maybe we could do a road trip,” Steve says. “We could fly out to Alaska, then rent a car in California, head wherever we want.”

TJ mulls that over. “Alaska?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it just... cold there? Like an iceberg?” He wrinkles his nose in distaste, which makes Steve laugh.

“No. It’s really beautiful, actually. Lots of nature to see.” He shrugs, offering, “We could hike, see the national parks. Camp out and see the Northern Lights.” TJ freezes at that, eyes lighting up, and Steve can instantly see that he’s done good by remembering how much TJ is fascinated by the Northern Lights. “Bucky and I um, we saw ‘em once. In Iceland,” Steve explains. “It’s something everybody should see once in their lifetime, and I remember how you thought they were neat. With the uh, the painting and all.” He hadn’t wound up selling that painting. He’d let TJ hang it in his room. “So um, what about it?” he asks nervously. “Would you like to go?”

“Are you—_Really?_” TJ is looking at Steve the way that Bucky used to look at him whenever he’d done something especially sweet for a birthday or an anniversary. And TJ’s eyes are grey and Bucky’s were blue, but that doesn’t fucking matter because they’re still the same goddamn eyes and Steve hasn’t had them staring at him like this in two goddamn years and he’s missed it. 

…Steve is staring. He’s zoned out and he’s staring at TJ but he’s thinking of Bucky. That sudden realization hits Steve like a bucket of cold water, and he has to turn away before tears start to prick at his eyes. He shoots up from the couch, pasta forgotten on the coffee table. “Uh, I’ll just… be back.”

He hides in the bathroom for a long time, turning the fan on and pretending to be pooping until he can stop thinking of Bucky and get himself together. When he goes back out and rejoins TJ on the couch, TJ seems to be able to tell that something happened—and it wasn’t pooping. He doesn’t say anything about it, but when Steve picks up his plate and TJ pushes play on the show again, he scoots over to sit close against Steve, comforting and quiet. Zombie violence and cheesy pasta helps push the awkwardness to the backs of their minds.

-

At bedtime, TJ pecks Steve on the lips, tells him he knows how hard it is for him sometimes, still. He tells him he can go back to his room if he wants, that they both know the nightmares have stopped and he’ll understand if Steve needs his space. 

Steve stays.

.oOo.

Steve comes back from the gym, completely sweaty and gross and in a really triumphant mood because he’s finally,_ finally_ bested Natasha in hand-to-hand (for such a small person she is unbelievably strong). Steve calls out for TJ when he’s in the kitchen, guzzling orange juice, but TJ doesn’t answer so Steve figures he’s listening to music in his room or something.  
Putting the juice back in the fridge, Steve heads to take a shower. 

He freezes in the doorway to his bathroom when he gets in there and sees that TJ is in his shower, leaning against the tiled wall and jerking himself off. Steve’s jaw drops.

It only takes a second before TJ sees him and he’s instantly cursing, letting go of himself and turning away. That helps only marginally as then his naked butt is right in Steve’s view. Goddamn Steve’s bathroom and it’s clear fucking open shower design. “Get out!” TJ yells, and Steve scrambles to obey.

-

Later, in the living room, TJ finally ventures out with a sheepish look on his face and a blush on his cheeks that Steve finds way too cute but is in no fit state to appreciate. “TJ, _what_ were you doing in my bathroom?” he asks, not sternly but definitely baffled.

TJ’s blush gets much, much worse. “I was jerking off,” he says defensively. “It’s allowed.”

Steve groans and slaps a hand over his face, scrubbing it. “God, no. I _know_ that I just…” He removes his hand. “Why were you in _my_ bathroom?”

TJ shrugs and looks at his feet. “I like it. Yours has those jet thingies that shoot water out from the sides.”

Steve huffs. “Oh my god.”

“What?!” TJ says, now defensive and angry. “It’s not my fault. You should’ve knocked first.”

“In my _own_ bathroom?!”

TJ huffs and stalks away. “Whatever Steve.” 

Steve’s just left to stew and try to erase the image of TJ, naked and slick, jerking off in his shower. He sinks back into the couch. “Fuck.”

It takes a couple of weeks, but eventually the jerking off incident gets forgiven and forgotten …Mostly forgotten. …Except for when Steve masturbates and thinks about it to get himself off that much harder.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November, 2014—Helipad, Avenger’s Tower, Manhattan 
> 
> November, 2019—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

November, 2014

“Do you have to go?” Steve asks, standing anxiously in front of Bucky and hugging his bathrobe around himself from the windy cold. 

They’re on the helipad, the jet ready to be powered up and Nat and Sam already on-board. Bucky’s in all of his black-ops gear, and Steve is in his pajamas and bathrobe. He feels bizarrely like a housewife seeing her husband off on a long work trip. Bucky smiles at him and pulls him in against his body. His clothes are made of a rough material that feels like sandpaper against Steve’s cheek when he bends to lay it on Bucky’s shoulder. He hugs him as hard as he can manage. Now that they’re married, it feels so much harder to let Bucky go when he gets called out on these missions.

Bucky hugs him back, saying, “It’s my job babe, you know that.” He kisses Steve on the cheek and then pulls back from the hug, offering him a smile. Bucky doesn’t look worried at all. His nonchalance doesn’t match the seriousness of his gear. He’s got a very intimidating-looking rifle slung over his shoulder. “It’s a standard op. Nothing to worry about.”

Steve bites his lip. “Where?”

Bucky smiles sadly. “You know I can’t tell you that, Stevie.” He cups Steve’s jaw and looks at him in that same way he used to do, back when Steve was small. “Don’t spend the whole time thinking about me, okay? Paint something new.”

Steve can’t help but to smile at that. Bucky knows him too well. “No chance,” he says, then leans in to give Bucky one last, quick kiss. “Be safe, Scary man.”

“Be good, Little man.” Bucky turns, jogs up the jet’s gang plank, and then they’re off.

-

Steve roots through their closets while Bucky’s gone, trying to busy himself so that he doesn’t think about all of the things that could go wrong on Bucky’s mission. He’s always come back safe before. He’s good at his job. Organizing their closets takes up most of an afternoon, which is good. Steve finds a box of old videotapes and DVDs that he drags out into the living room. Maybe he can find something to watch and kill some more time He’s about to pop in a copy of an old romcom, when the sticker label on one of the tapes catches his eye. 

_Kiev, 1991_

Steve swallows, curiosity and dread curling in his gut. The curiosity wins out. “Hey Jarvis?” he asks.

_“Yes, Sir?_

“Can you play VHS?”

_ “If the track is entered into my archives, then yes. Would you like me to send DUM-E to retrieve a tape?_

Steve knows he should say no. Kiev is a city in Ukraine and there’s only one reason why there would be a tape labeled that way in the apartment. This is Bucky’s tape and it most certainly has something to do with the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s never invited Steve to watch it. Steve should put it back and forget about it. He should.

“…Sure. Send him up.”

-

Steve knew he shouldn’t have watched it. Even hours after the end of the video and several episodes of _Friends_ later, he still can’t get the images out of his head. 

He’d known Bucky had been tortured, known he’d been captured and brainwashed and used as an asset for sixty years. But knowing that and seeing it on videotape are, as it turns out, two very different things.

Steve wasn’t cut out for all this spy-assassin stuff. He’s got a big, strong body now, but on the inside he just feels weak. He can’t handle seeing footage of Bucky being tortured with water and cold and electricity, can’t handle watching as his personality and memories are stripped away and replaced with nothing but precision and obedience. He’s just seen footage of Bucky shooting men who’ve been black-bagged and tied to chairs. Putting his pistol to the fabric and shooting at point blank range. Now Steve knows that a slit throat coupled with a broken neck were Bucky’s modus operandi, at least when he wasn’t pulling a trigger from half a mile away. 

He’s seen the cold rush of fluid as Bucky fell, decanted onto some Shield facility’s floor. And he’s heard Bucky’s screams of mental and physical anguish as he came back and realized what he’d done, what’d been done to him.

Steve has always hated seeing Bucky cry.

-

He’s on the couch in his Snuggie, trying to make more episodes of Friends make the images of Bucky’s past go away, when the elevator doors ding and Bucky steps off. Steve inhales sharply and shoots up to standing. “Bucky.”

Bucky smiles. “You should have ordered the extra-large, babe.” He’s talking about the Snuggie that only reaches mid-calf on Steve. Steve huffs at the comment and rushes forward, enveloping Bucky in a hug. “Whoa, hey, hey.” Bucky laughs and holds him, steadying them both from toppling from Steve’s hug. “Hey, I missed you too, Sugar.”

Steve stuffs his face in Bucky’s neck, inhaling him deeply, even though there’s a level of stink over his scent. “Missed you so much,” he says.

Bucky pets his hair. He’s not laughing anymore, perhaps realizing how upset Steve is. “I was only gone two days,” he says. “Stevie, what’s wrong?”

“I just worried about you,” Steve mumbles. 

Maybe Bucky can tell that he’s not being truthful, but he doesn’t press. “Come on,” he says instead. “I’m dirty. You gonna wash me off?” Steve nods against his shoulder. It’s their post-mission ritual. Bucky smiles and rubs his back, the fleece of the snuggie the softest thing he’s touched in days. “Okay,” he says gently, “Come on. Go get the water warm for us and I’ll throw my gear in the hamper. We can order in and watch something sappy. I won’t even clean my guns till later.”

That gets a snort out of Steve. “How romantic.” Really, he knows that it is. Bucky treats his guns (and knives) like his children. He truly loves Steve, to prioritize romcoms and snuggling over cleaning his weapons. “Kay,” Steve whispers, peeling himself off of Bucky to head to the bathroom and get the shower water going.

-

They don’t do anything sexual in the shower, which is unusual but doesn’t evoke any comment from Bucky. But Steve knows that Bucky can tell he’s upset, and he knows he can’t avoid discussing it forever. Bucky cares too much about him; he’ll make him talk. 

It happens that night, after four hours of Chinese food and movies and pure physical presence have calmed both of them down. Bucky takes Steve back into the bedroom and lays them down on their sides facing each other. “Ready to talk about it?” he asks. 

“No.”

“Babe.”

Steve huffs. “Fine. I um, I did something I shouldn’t have.”

Bucky’s brow furrows. “What?”

“I, well…” Steve looks guiltily at his husband. “I was cleaning up around the apartment and I found a video.”

“…Okaay?”

“It was a video of you,” Steve admits. “It was labeled _Kiev_. I knew I shouldn’t watch it, but I did anyway.” Steve peeks at Bucky, expecting to see him frowning or glaring. He’s not. “Aren’t you mad?” 

“No, no I’m not mad. I just… I’m not sure which video you saw. I guess they’re basically all the same.”

“THEY?!”

Bucky huffs. He grabs Steve’s shoulders and pulls him in close, hugging him. “Hey, hey. I’m not mad at you for watching. I just wish you hadn’t, for your sake. I never wanted you to have to know all those things.”

Steve sniffles, scrubbing his face against Bucky’s shoulder. “I know you told me about it, about your past and all that. But I never really imagined how horrible it was.”

Bucky shushes him and rubs his back. “I know. I never wanted you to, Baby. I’m sorry.”

Steve pulls back, shocked. “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have kept the tapes. I should’ve destroyed them.” Bucky frowns, looking away. “I certainly shouldn’t have been keeping them in the apartment for you to find.” His eyes slide back to Steve, and he smiles sadly at him. “I’ve always loved how innocent you are.”

“Hey now, I’m not all that—”

“_Yes_, you are,” Bucky insists, shutting Steve up with his tone. He softens and reaches to cradle Steve’s jaw, thumbing over his cheek. “You’re a shit and a trouble-maker, but you’re not like me. I’ve always loved that. It’s one of your best features.” His lips quirk, but when Steve doesn’t smile back Bucky sighs. “You don’t need to know about black sites and interrogation techniques, Stevie.”

“Oh, god.”

Bucky shushes him with a kiss. When they part, his eyes are soft. Steve can’t help but to relax at that look. “I love you, Steven Rogers-Barnes,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry you saw all that stuff. It’s not my life anymore. It can’t hurt me. My life’s with you now.”

“Bucky,”

“I mean it. The only thing that matters now is you, us. Promise me you’ll try to forget all the rest, okay?” He pecks another kiss to Steve’s lips, lingering close afterwards. His breath smells like the toothpaste he’s just used. “Promise?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, Buck. I promise. But I’m still sorry I watched the—”

Bucky surges in to kiss him, grabbing at him and pulling until Steve rolls over top of him. Steve grunts, arms shooting to prop himself up over Bucky. Bucky parts his legs and grins up at him. “Isn’t there something else we could be doing? I mean your sexy assassin husband did just return home alive from a secret mission.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Isn’t there some better way you could be welcoming me back?”

Steve smirks and rolls his hips down. “Oh I don’t know. What’d you have in mind?”

Bucky’s metal hand grabs Steve’s hair at the back of his head and forces him down into an aggressive kiss. Steve groans at how forceful it is, at the way that Bucky licks hotly into his mouth and nips his lower lip on the way out. He pulls Steve back with that same grip on his hair. “One thing,” he growls. “You can grab the lube and fuck me, that’s what.”

Steve pauses, taken back by that. Also, he’s crazy turned on. “You… you want that?” Steve hardly ever tops. It’s not that both he and Bucky don’t enjoy it, physically, but rather that it doesn’t match their relationship dynamic. Steve used to be the small one and Bucky the gruff one and it’d just kind of felt right that Bucky should top. Getting the serum and bulking up to just a liiiitle bit bigger than Bucky hadn’t changed how the two of them fit together. “Buck?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s eyes have gone soft. He’s watching Steve carefully to make sure he’s okay. Gently, he runs his hands up and down Steve’s back. “I want it.”

Steve feels his body flood with arousal and love for the man beneath him, his husband. “Fuck, Bucky.” He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, nosing at his jaw and rolling his hips down. Both of them are half hard, at this point. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Sugar. You gonna get our clothes off?”

Steve can always trust Bucky to remember to move things along, even when Steve himself gets sappy and distracted. “Yeah,” he breathes, pulling away to kneel up. “Yeah.” He pulls his teeshirt over his head, excited to see how Bucky’s eyes darken at the sight of his bared chest. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Fuck baby. Yeah. Love your body. Can’t wait to feel you on top of me.”

Steve groans. Bucky’s so vocal in bed and he loves it. They get naked and Steve sinks down over Bucky again, hissing when Bucky reaches down to play with both their cocks. “Fuck.”

Bucky kisses him, letting go when they’re hard and wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist. “Rub on me a little, Sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Make yourself feel good.” 

Steve shuts Bucky up with more kisses, keeping their mouths connected as they rut together. He can feel it when Bucky’s arm stretches away, knows that he’s rooting in their bedside drawer for the lube. Steve takes it from him when he offers it and pops the cap open. He moves to sit back but Bucky holds him tight, preventing it. “No,” he says quietly. “Stay here. I wanna feel you close.”

Steve sighs, smiling and kissing Bucky deeply again. “Okay,” he agrees, slicking his fingers and bringing them down to trail behind Bucky’s balls. He wants that too, needs it in fact. After this mission and seeing that tape, Steve wants to be as close to his husband as possible. He’s glad that Bucky wants him to top tonight, to be inside of him. He’d crawl inside Bucky’s skin, if he could.

Bucky inhales deeply when Steve presses a finger in. He closes his eyes and hums in mild enjoyment. Steve’s watching his face carefully for any sign of discomfort. “Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs. 

Bucky smiles, not opening his eyes. He parts his thighs wider where they’re cradling Steve’s hips. “You always do, Doll.”

Sometimes Steve swears Bucky just goes heavy on the 40’s pet names because he knows that Steve loves it.

He fucks Bucky gently with just one finger for a long time, dragging it over his prostate as often as he can manage. A quick glance down to his cock shows that he’s still hard, and Steve whispers, “Another?”

Bucky’s eyes open. “Yeah,” he says. “M’not made of glass, Stevie.”

Steve huffs, thrusting the one finger extra hard just to make Bucky grunt. “ I'm not gonna hurt you,” he argues.

Bucky looks up at him with exasperation and just about all the love in the world. He reaches to stroke Steve’s face with his metal hand. “I know, Stevie. You couldn’t even if you tried.” It’s incredibly sappy for Bucky, but it’s just Steve’s cup of tea and he tries to fight back the tears that he can feel welling in his eyes. Bucky sees it. “Honey…”

Steve dips down and kisses him, pressing all that he’s feeling against his mouth. “Missed you so much,” he says, that yearning _ache_ that he has for Bucky so strong that it hurts. “I want you here all the time, all the time with me. I don’t want you to go away again. I want you safe.”

Bucky shushes him and says “I know, I know,” but he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He just kisses Steve back and tells him to put another finger in. Steve does. Bucky sighs and digs his head back against the pillow, hips arching up into the press of Steve’s fingers. Steve crooks them and rubs firmly over that spot, watching with so much satisfaction as Bucky moans and pants in pleasure. “Steve, oh fuck baby. Yeah.”

Bucky tries to get him to fuck him faster, but Steve refuses. He takes his time, fucking Bucky with two fingers and then three, adding obscene amounts of lube and just really making sure that the muscle is loose and relaxed. He doesn’t want Bucky to feel anything but pleasure tonight.

“M’ready,” Bucky gasps when the pleasure of Steve’s fingers gets to be too much. “Please.”

Steve pulls his hand away, kissing Bucky’s chin and agreeing. He moves to reach for a condom from the bedside drawer but Bucky catches his wrist, halting him. Steve meets his eyes in surprise. “No?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “No. Not tonight.” 

Steve swallows heavily, the fact that Bucky wants that, wants to feel Steve’s come in him afterwards, making him shiver. “Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, okay.”

When he slips inside of Bucky, it’s perfect. Bucky groans, long and low, and the way that it sounds lets Steve know that his husband isn’t feeling anything but pure pleasure. He sinks in until his hips meet Bucky’s ass and Bucky’s hooking his heels over the backs of his legs. “Make it slow,” Bucky tells him quietly. “I want to feel all of it, every second.” 

Steve groans, forehead falling down to Bucky’s shoulder. He nods against the skin there, pulling his hips back as far as Bucky’s tight grip on him allows, then pushing back in for that first, deep thrust. 

They fuck for what feels like hours, grunts and moans and hot breaths passed between them. They’re so _close_, just as close as Steve wanted them to be, and it’s like a healing balm on the hurt that those images brought. Steve can’t think of Bucky any way other than what he is now—a panting, gasping mess beneath him. He’s beautiful, newly-short hair curling at the edges and the light sheen of sweat along his shoulders and collarbones catching Steve’s eyes. He kisses him whenever he can, brief catches of their lips between their shared moans and gasps.

It’s when Bucky reaches down between their bellies to stroke himself that Steve knows he’s close, and it drives him on, makes him snap his hips just that barest bit harder, curling into it more to get at the places inside that’ll make Bucky light up. He watches, transfixed, as Bucky shudders and comes, spurting hot between them. “Oh, Buck,” Steve groans. He grips Bucky’s shoulders tighter and goes faster, fucking him hard and fast to find his own release. Bucky’s just barely down from the throes of his own orgasm when Steve cries out and stills, releasing all that he has inside of Bucky’s body. 

It’s not crawling inside of him, but it’s the closest that Steve will ever get, and it’s enough.

.oOo.

November, 2019—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan 

Steve wakes abruptly in the middle of the night. His eyes shoot open, unsure what it is that’s pulled him from sleep so suddenly. He doesn’t feel like he’d been having a nightmare or even dreaming, and one glance over shows that TJ is sound asleep. Steve swallows and sits up. His phone tells him it’s five thirty. It’s still dark out, but Steve is used to getting up before the sun. It was his routine, until he started sleeping in TJ’s room. The other man seems to wake naturally around nine in the morning, and so far Steve hasn’t been able to bring himself to disrupt that. 

He slides carefully out of the bed, leaving the room as silently as possible. He decides he’ll go up to the gym and work out, be back in time to make him and TJ breakfast. It’s as he’s riding up in the glass elevator that he sees the jet on the helipad, two figures walking around it. Steve presses the button to go back down to the helipad’s level. 

“Hey,” he says to Natasha as he approaches. Clint has already gone into the jet. Nat acknowledges Steve with a stiff nod. “Gonna be gone long?” Steve asks, knowing by now that it’s usually one of the only questions that Nat and the others are allowed to answer about missions like these. 

“No way to tell.”

“Dangerous?” Another permissible question. Bucky’s answer had always been a lying grin and a smooth, “‘Course not,” that was just for Steve.  
Natasha doesn’t play it that way.

“Could be.” For a second she looks unsurely at Steve, biting her lip in a way that’s very unusual for her. She glances back at the jet, then steps up close to Steve. “There’ve been deaths.” Steve raises an eyebrow. Natasha twists her lips. “Operatives showing up dead. Mostly eastern Europe. Throats slit, necks broken.” She watches Steve carefully as she says that last part.

Steve swallows heavily, trying not to react even though a cold sort of shock runs through him. “Oh,” he says, not knowing what else to say. Both he and Nat know how Bucky used to kill in close-quarters situations. 

“It could be nothing,” Nat warns. “Probably is nothing. I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve rushes to say. He tries to show her that he’s calm, that he’s not reacting. Inside, he’s fighting not to.

Natasha gives him one last considering look, then she nods sharply, all business. “A few days at least,” she tells him, already walking back towards the jet. Steve watches as she ascends it’s ramp, then disappears from sight. It doesn’t take long for the jet’s mostly silent engines to power up, their hot, displaced air swirling around the deck and making Steve’s teeshirt flutter around his body. 

He watches them take off and leave into the just barely lightened sky, trying to quiet his mind. He tells himself no, that he’s not allowed to think that way. He’d spent enough time dreaming about having Bucky back in his arms two years ago and he’s moved on since then. He’s found peace. He’s not going to let this coincidence of a murder spree steal that peace away from him. So he can’t be irrational and think that this is Bucky, back from the dead. It isn’t. He watched Bucky get his brains blown out across a car window. 

Nobody comes back from that, not even a super soldier.

.oOo.

Steve peeks his head into TJ’s room and sees that he’s sitting at his desk, using the computer and talking aloud to JARVIS. The AI has taken over most of TJ’s tutoring now. It’d been an experiment, at first. Tony had suggested it, and once TJ tried letting JARVIS take over his math courses, he was very enthusiastic about dismissing all of his teachers and having the AI come on full-time. “I just like it, Steve,” TJ had argued, annoyed when Steve didn’t immediately jump on-board with the idea. 

“But real teachers could—”

“Who needs real teachers?” TJ had said, waving at the ceiling in indication of the speaker system through which JARVIS spoke. “J is better than all my other teachers. I’m an auditory learner. It works for me.”

Steve had sheepishly agreed, consoling himself that, if nothing else, it would save them money. JARVIS had later found time to kindly tell Steve that he was _“Sure real teachers were needed for some things. Like art.” _

Now, Steve leans in the doorway to TJ’s room. “Teej?” TJ swivels around in his chair, scowl on his face because he hates it when Steve calls him Teej. Steve just smiles winningly at him. “You ready to go?”

TJ blinks for a second before he seems to remember what it is that they’re doing today, and then he shoots up. “Yeah!” He spares JARVIS (or, the ceiling, really) a quick glance. “Finish later J!” 

_“Of course, Sir.”_

-

The trip to the social services building doesn’t take more than twenty minutes. Inside, Steve has to walk briskly to keep pace with TJ. They’re there to get all of TJ’s identifying documents. TJ practically snatches the folder he’s handed and starts rifling through it with a smile. “Steve,” he says, grin spread over his face. “I’ve got a birth certificate!” He holds it up and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Look! I’m a real boy now!”

Steve snorts at the _Pinocchio_ reference, taking the birth certificate and looking down. The document lists both TJ’s mother and father as “unknown,” his birthdate as _October 18, 1993_, and his last name as “Barnes.”

Steve gulps, upset by that last but not wanting to seem like he is. “Guess they got your birthdate from the GenoCorp records?” he says, voice coming out quieter than he means for it to. 

TJ takes the paper back and looks at it again. He snorts. “More like my ‘decanting’ date. But yeah, guess so. I asked to be twenty-five, so they put that year for me.” He shoots Steve a sly look, “Hey, you think they would’ve put 1918 if I’d said I wanted to be 100?”

Steve swallows, mind instantly shooting to how Bucky had been born in 1917…

“But seriously, I look like I could be twenty-five, right? Oh, hey looks like they gave me Bucky’s name.” Steve tries hard to keep a neutral expression at that. Then TJ’s face splits in a grin and he says, “Hey! Now you and I have the same last name!”

Steve gapes. “I… I hyphenated mine. Rogers-Barnes.”

“Eh, close enough.” TJ loops his arm through Steve’s and drags him back out of the building, insisting that now that he has an actual, legal identity, they’re going straight to the DMV to acquire him a New York driver’s license.

.oOo.

Steve is able to talk TJ out of trying to complete the test for a driver’s permit, but only just. “There are just some things that you _cannot_ learn from an AI system!” They wind up getting him a New York state ID card instead, and TJ is just as happy to stick that in his back pocket as anything else. 

“Okay,” he says, when they finally,_ finally_ escape from the DMV. “Now I want to go to a club!”

Steve is walking in pace with TJ down the sidewalk, but he comes up short when he says that. “Um, what?” he asks. “No?”

TJ has stopped too. He doubles back and pouts at Steve’s side. “But I’m old enough to drink!” He pats his butt meaningfully, indicating the pocket where he’s shoved his new plastic ID card. “I want to go drink and dance!”

Steve winces at how excited TJ seems about that. “Clubs are awful,” he tells TJ. “They’re crowded and loud and somebody always spills something on you. Completely overrated.”

“Says the man who wears sweater vests,” TJ counters.

Steve looks down at his outfit defensively. Bucky used to make fun of Steve for wearing them too, but he’d also told him he sort of liked it._ “Gives me that hot for teacher vibe,”_ he’d always told Steve, usually followed by a smirk and a, _“May I suck your cock, Professor Rogers?”_ or some such filth. Steve blushes as he pinches the knit of his sweater and remembers…

“Hello? Earth to Steve?” Steve’s eyes jerk up, refocusing on TJ. TJ is looking at him with raised eyebrows. “I _said_: we need to go out. I need to drink!”

Steve groans. “No TJ. You don’t. Drinking isn’t that great.”

“Says you and not _one_ single thing I’ve seen on tv.” TJ pokes him. “We’re going.” He starts back down the sidewalk, mind made up. Steve follows like a lost puppy.

“No we’re not.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yep. Totally are.”

-

When the evening hours are approaching and TJ has pilfered something stylish from Tony’s closet and is threatening Steve that, _fine, he’ll just go out with Wanda and Darcy instead_, Steve panics (TJ _cannot_ be allowed loose in the city with Darcy) and caves. He tells TJ he’ll take him out. “To a bar or lounge, not a club,” he insists. TJ pouts but doesn’t fight it, thank goodness. Steve doesn’t dance, _can’t_ dance. Bucky hadn’t been able to either, and so arguing over going to a club hadn’t ever been something Steve had had to deal with in his marriage. 

Steve tries to be patient and lets TJ raid his closet to choose something “acceptable” for him to wear as well. 

.oOo.

“This is great!” 

Steve watches, half in annoyance, half in amusement …and half in arousal, as TJ dances in place by their couch. That’s one-too-many halves and makes no sense, but neither does the way Steve’s feeling about the drunk kid in front of him. “Teej, come sit down,” Steve tries, embarrassed at the way TJ’s little dance is making him feel, and not unaware of the glances it’s drawing to their spot in the lounge. Some of the glances are odd, but some of them are heated. Steve hasn’t missed the man just down the way at the bar who can’t seem to keep his eyes and his smirk off of TJ. Steve throws the guy another scowl when TJ’s not looking, but either the man doesn’t notice or else he just doesn’t care. Steve tugs on TJ’s hand again, finally getting him to come back to their couch and sit down. TJ pouts.

“I was dancing!”

Steve rolls his eyes. He reaches and picks up his beer. “This isn’t that kind of establishment.”

TJ scowls and picks up his own drink, swiping it out of Steve’s reach before the other man can take it from him. “Yeah,” he complains, sipping it. “Because you wouldn’t let me take you to a _real_ party.”

“TJ, stop that. You’re drunk,” Steve scolds.

“Yeah, that’s the point!” TJ beams. He scoots closer to Steve and throws his arm around his shoulders. Steve blushes massively but doesn’t shrug him off. If TJ’s drunken advances throw off the staring guy at the bar, then it’ll be worth it. He glances to the bar; the man is frowning. _Good._ “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” TJ is saying. “You’re too uptight. You need to let loose, like me!”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re letting loose enough for the both of us.” He glances at his phone. It’s nearly one o’clock. He reaches around and takes TJ’s drink away from him before he can stop him.

“Hey!”

Steve downs the bit that’s left, sets the glass onto the table in front of where they’re sitting. “You’ve had enough,” he says, kissing the top of TJ’s head before he can think better of it. “You’re already going to be regretting this tomorrow.”

TJ pouts as Steve disentangles himself and stands. “This is my first time getting drunk. It’s a rite of passage. I’m losing my drinking virginity!”

Oh god. Steve feels another blush creep over him at the direction _that_ sends his thoughts. “Yeah well you’re going to lose your hangover virginity tomorrow,” he tells him. He glances back to the bar but sees that the guy there has left. Okay. He looks back at TJ. “You think you can manage to stay here and not get into trouble while I hit the restroom?”

TJ huffs, looking like he thinks Steve is ridiculous. “Course.” He folds his legs and puts his feet up on the table. “I’ll be good,” he says, smirking.  
Steve nods and turns away. He really has to piss, otherwise he’d never chance leaving his drunken charge alone. “Good,” he throws back at TJ. His eyes locate the sign that hangs over the bathroom hallway, and he steps off in that direction.

-

Steve comes out of the restroom, looks in the direction of the bottle-service couch that he’s paid _way_ too much money for, and immediately growls. The man from the bar has gone over there and is sitting on the couch with TJ, arm around him and talking in his ear. Steve feels his guts churn in <s>jealousy</s> concern. “Goddamn it.” He hurries over. 

TJ’s eyes shoot up and he grins widely when he notices Steve. “Steve! This is Gavin.” He tips his head at the man who is obviously angling to snap TJ up. He’s bought TJ some sort of fruity-looking drink, which makes Steve nearly want to snort—they have _bottle_ service, for Christ’s sake. “He bought me a daiquiri!” TJ says, sounding very happy about it. “It’s so good!”

Steve frowns, steps forward and takes the drink from TJ’s hand. He sets it on the table, ignoring TJ’s squawk of protest. “That’s very nice of him, but you’ve had enough,” he says. He reaches down and takes TJ’s hand to haul him up. He receives two glares for that. TJ goes willingly into his arms with a huff, and _Gavin_ scowls. 

“What’re you, his chaperone?”

“Boyfriend, actually,” Steve snaps, not thinking twice before throwing out the lie. It’ll get this guy off of TJ’s scent, and that’s what’s most important. Steve only half-notices TJ’s shocked inhale by his ear. He tightens his hold around TJ’s side. “We were just leaving,” he tells Gavin. “The table’s paid up. Feel free to enjoy it.”

Gavin’s face freezes, then morphs from aggravation to surprise, to a pleased look. “Oh. Well… thanks.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. _Some admirer, TJ_, he thinks. “Yeah, sure.” He pulls TJ with him and heads for the door. 

TJ complains all the way from the club’s exit to where Steve’s parked his motorcycle. “That was _rude_,” he tells Steve, huffing and tucking his chin down as Steve puts the passenger helmet on him. It shuts him up well-enough though.

“You need to watch yourself,” Steve tells him. His voice is muffled from his own helmet, but he can tell that TJ hears him. “And don’t accept drinks from strangers. People can drug them you know.”

“Drug them with what?”

Steve feels his guts clench at the poignant reminder of how damn naïve TJ is. He grunts and snaps down the visor of TJ’s helmet. “Get on the bike,” he tells him. He gets on, and a second later TJ does too. Steve waits for him to grab onto his waist. On the ride over it’d been a thrill, having an excuse to be so close, and Steve had let himself enjoy the contact. Now he just tugs TJ’s arms tight around himself and tells him. “_Don’t_ let go. You’re drunk and we’ll be home soon.”

TJ doesn’t say anything, or if he does Steve doesn’t hear it as he revs the bike’s engine. He feels TJ’s arms tighten even further on him and his thighs tighten behind him, though, and that makes him feel more confident that they’ll get home safely. Sighing, he checks the traffic in the street and pulls out of their parking spot.

-

Back at the apartment, TJ doesn’t waste time in confronting Steve. Steve has already gone into his bedroom—_his_ bedroom—and changed into pajamas. He’s at the sink in his bathroom and is brushing his teeth when TJ comes in and stands next to him, leaning his butt against the vanity’s counter. He folds his arms and gives Steve a wry look. Steve notes that he looks marginally more sober now. “Wha?” he asks through the foam of the toothpaste in his mouth.

“You’re a real buzzkill, you know that?” TJ says. 

He’s looking at Steve with a weird expression. Steve doesn’t know whether it’s more annoyance or amusement. He spits into the sink. “You were out of control.” It’s an exaggeration, but he lets it stand.

“I was just having fun,” TJ says. “I know you were trying to look out for me but I was fine. That guy was nice. You could’ve let me talk some more to him.”

“And let him ply you with more drinks until you did something you’d regret?” Steve scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

TJ just stares at him for a long minute, and then his eyes darken. “How do you know what I was going to do? Huh? And who are you to say that I would’ve regretted anything? I’m a grown fucking adult Steve. I know you hate to believe that, but it’s true. So what if some guy wants to buy me drinks and flirt with me?” Steve gapes, and that makes TJ scoff. “Yeah, I can tell when I’m being flirted with, Steve. I’m not an idiot.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I know a lot of things. I’m allowed to flirt with people. I’m allowed to do what I want. You’re not my dad.” 

Steve blushes, embarrassed. “I _know_ that. I—”

“And I’m allowed to be with people, if I want,” TJ presses. He pokes Steve’s arm with a finger. “I can touch them, and kiss them, and fuck them if I want.”

Steve gapes. “TJ,”

“Don’t ‘TJ’ me,” TJ scowls. “You treat me like a little kid Steve. I’m not!” He pushes off the counter and steps closer to Steve, trapping him against the edge of the sink. It’s way too close but Steve doesn’t push him away. “Maybe you don’t want me, won’t be with me, but that’s your choice. You don’t get to keep me locked up and not let me be with anyone else.”

Steve’s mouth is flopping like a fish, he’s sure. “TJ, I’m not—”

“_God_, shut up.” TJ surges in, smashing their mouths together. It’s fast and graceless, but Steve’s hands fly to his waist and instead of pushing him away like he intends to, they hold him firm. He starts kissing back. TJ makes a noise of surprised pleasure, and then he’s reaching up and looping his arms around Steve’s neck, and pressing his hips into Steve and it feels so good and he tastes like strawberry daiquiri…

Steve inhales sharply and pulls back. “TJ, wait...” 

TJ opens his eyes. They’re heavy with lust and after a second of taking in Steve’s expression, he looks pained. “I don’t get it, Steve,” he says. “Why won’t you just be with me? You obviously want to. I want to, too.”

Steve grimaces. Because TJ’s words are true. “I just… I don’t want to…” He stops talking, trying to figure out what he even wants to say, what he even thinks. In the end he winds up looking down between their bodies, if only to avoid TJ’s stare. “I don’t know,” he says. 

TJ stays very still for a moment, but then he’s using one hand to lift Steve’s chin, to make Steve look at him. TJ has a tender expression on his face. “Is it because I look like him?” he asks. “Does it make you upset?”

Steve is immediately shaking his head. “No, TJ, no. I… yeah it was that. At first. But I don’t think about you that way anymore. You’re… you’re you. I know that. I see it.”

“Then what?” TJ asks, sounding sad. “Why can’t you let yourself have me? Why can’t I have you? Why is it bad?”

Oh god. Steve’s heart clenches. TJ looks so, so sad. Steve suddenly wants to kiss him again. He wants it more than anything. All the desire that he’s been pushing down for months comes bubbling up to the surface, and for once Steve doesn’t push it back down. He cups TJ’s face between his hands and pulls him in for another kiss, only this time _he_ leads, and he kisses him slowly, deeply. TJ seems to melt into it, following what Steve does and moving his mouth in the same, heavy slide. When Steve pulls back, TJ makes a disappointed sound. Their eyes open at the same time. The look in TJ’s eyes makes Steve gulp. He realizes that he’s a little hard in his jeans, and TJ is too.

“Be with me,” TJ says, but he says it quietly, hoping.

Steve breathes with his mouth open, feeling overwhelmed and like he’s giving in to this. It’s upsetting, how much he wants to give in. “I… okay,” he says, and he says it so quietly that he hardly hears the words. It’s the way that TJ’s eyes light up that lets him know he’s actually said it out loud. “Okay.”

“Really?” TJ’s face is alight. He kisses Steve again and pulls back. “You mean it?”

Steve licks his lips. “Yes.” God, he does. He’s wanted this for a while, he realizes. For longer than he’d like to admit. He wonders when it became okay. “Yes,” he says again. “God, TJ, yes.”

They kiss again, and again, and it grows heavier. Until TJ’s hands are roving all over Steve and their hips are moving in a dirty grind. Steve eventually forces himself to pull back, even though he hates the whine that TJ makes at it. “Wait, wait,” he says, needing TJ to listen to him. “I want to, I do,” he says.

“Then come on,” TJ says. He steps back and grabs Steve’s hand, starts tugging on it to get him to leave the bathroom. “Come to my room. I want to do it there.”

Steve’s dick twitches. “No, TJ.”

TJ freezes. He looks back at Steve. “What?”

“No. We’re not doing that. Not tonight.”

TJ whines. “But _Steve_, why not?”

Steve smiles apologetically, and the apology is both for TJ and for his own aching dick. “Because,” he says softly, pulling on TJ to get him to come back into his arms. He pecks a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re very, very drunk.”

“Ugh, that’s okay,” TJ says. “I want it, I swear.”

Steve has to smile at how much TJ obviously means that. “I believe you,” he says. “But people can’t consent when they’re drunk. _Especially_ if it’s their first time.”

TJ pauses, then he blushes. “Well,” he hedges, for the first time looking like he doesn’t know what to say. 

Steve speaks for him. “I want to be with you when you’ll actually remember it, Teej.” He strokes the hair at the side of TJ’s head, thinking about how its texture is so different from how Bucky’s was. “I want it to be better than this.”

TJ looks like he’ll argue, but after a long minute, he seems to deflate. He groans and buries his face into Steve’s shoulder. Steve lets him. “Ugh. Why do you always have to be responsible,” he complains, “and right?”

Steve chuckles and hugs TJ tightly against him. “Just perfect that way, I guess,” he says, though he in no way feels any less achingly disappointed than TJ sounds. He kisses TJ’s forehead and hugs him. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

TJ makes an unamused sound into his shoulder. “I seriously, seriously doubt that.”

Steve just shushes him and sets about getting them both to bed. This time in separate bedrooms.

.oOo.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November, 2019—41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

For the first time since TJ came to live at the Tower, it’s _Steve_ who has a nightmare and _TJ_ who crawls on top of him, shaking him awake. 

“Steve. _Steve!_”

“Bucky!” Steve gasps and his eyes fly open, the terror of his dream snatched away and abruptly replaced by reality. He blinks upwards through wet eyelashes. “TJ,” he breathes. It’s dark in the room but Steve can make out the other man’s face, can see how his features are pinched in concern as he stares down at him. Steve remembers his dream. “Oh, shit.” He sniffs, bringing a hand up to wipe hastily at his tear-streaked face. “What’re you doing in here?” He moves, propping himself up on the bed and forcing TJ to roll off of him. They’re in Steve’s bed. 

They’d gone to sleep in separate rooms last night.

“Sorry,” TJ says. “I got up to get a glass of water and when I walked by your door, I heard you crying in your sleep.” He reaches out and places a tentative hand on Steve’s shoulder. “…You were yelling his name, and you sounded so scared. I just wanted to help.”

Suddenly, Steve’s struck by their state of undress. He went to bed in nothing but his briefs, and TJ is only wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants. Steve stares at where TJ’s hand is resting on his naked shoulder. He’s unable to stop the goosebumps that come at the touch, unable to deny the fact that he wants to pull TJ into his arms and hold him close, now that he’s here. He shifts self-consciously, and TJ notices. 

He pulls his hand back, looking unsure. “Sorry,” he says. “I… should I not have come in here?” They both remember how they’d parted last night. Steve had insisted they wait before taking things further.

“No,” Steve whispers. “No, it’s… you’re okay. Thank you for waking me up.” His eyes flick over TJ, taking in his body; his sleep-mussed hair and gentle eyes, his soft, parted lips and expressive hands. He looks like he should be touched, like someone should lay him down in a bed and keep him there. Make him feel good, teach him things…

Steve feels weak as he looks at TJ, because he’s currently thinking about the very things that he’d told the kid they had to avoid rushing into. Under the fabric of his briefs, his cock has fattened up, and he’s not really sure when that started. He wants to chalk it up to the nightmare, call it a fear erection, but he knows that’s not it. 

TJ’s gaze tracks up and down his body, lingering on his chest for a long minute before dropping down to his very evident cock and balls. He licks his lips, eyes darkening in a way that makes Steve feel like he might as well be naked (really, he might as well be). TJ looks like he wants to bend down and suck him through his underwear and is just barely managing to hold back. That look does nothing to help Steve’s arousal, nor does the way TJ whispers, “I’ve sobered up by now.”

“Teej…”

TJ closes the distance between them and pushes Steve back down in the sheets. He connects their mouths, starts kissing him, and after a second of indecision Steve kisses back. TJ tilts his head, moving softly, tracing Steve’s bottom lip with the just tip of his tongue, barely dipping in when Steve sighs and parts to let him inside. It’s gentle and slow, as if TJ expects Steve to push him away if he goes too fast.

Or maybe that’s not it, Steve thinks. Maybe TJ is nervous, trying something so new. That gets to Steve, the careful exploration that TJ’s doing with his lips and tongue suddenly hotter than it was a second ago. This is only TJ’s second kiss. The first one he’s ever led. And he’s only ever kissed Steve.

TJ swings a leg over Steve, straddling him, and it’s immediately obvious that he’s hard. Steve groans into the kiss, hands flying up to grip him by the hips. “TJ—_mmph_—TJ wait.” TJ responds to that by _rolling_ his hips. Their erections rub together through the thin material they’re wearing, and Steve hisses. “Wait,” he repeats breathily. “Wait, wait.”

“Don’t wanna,” TJ says, dipping down to start mouthing at his neck as he rubs against him. “Feels good.”

Steve groans softly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah it does.” He should stop this. He was going to make them wait, was going to do things properly with TJ, take things slow. “We… we don’t have to do this right now,” he says, hating the words as they leave his mouth. He hasn’t done anything sexual with another person for over two years, and the feeling of TJ on top of him is so good. He doesn’t want to give it up.

TJ kisses his way back up to his mouth. “I know,” he tells him. “But I want to.”

“Teej,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Just hang on.” Steve tries to pull his brain out of his dick long enough to say, “You’ve never done this before.”

TJ laughs. “I know. Doesn’t matter.” He tries to go back to kissing Steve, but Steve evades him. 

“It does matter.” He smiles sadly up at him, stroking over his cheekbone with a thumb. “You’ve never done anything sexual before.”

“I’m trying to, but you’re making it difficult.”

Steve can’t help it, he snorts, but that’s cut off by a sharp gasp when TJ grinds down at a really good angle. “Oh, fuck.”

“Mm, yeah. We should.”

“TJ, wait.” Steve’s fingers dig harshly into TJ’s hips. “I’m trying to tell you: it doesn’t happen like this. I mean it shouldn’t, not all at once.” When TJ just looks confused, Steve explains, “We should slow down. Just explore each other.”

TJ smirks. “What do you think I’m doing?” he curls his fingers over the waistband of Steve’s briefs. “Take these off and I’ll explore you all you want.” When Steve doesn’t immediately reciprocate, uncertainty flickers across TJ’s face. “Don’t you want to?”

Steve winces at the hurt tone in TJ’s voice. He grabs hold of him and flips them over, coming to rest on top and giving him a firm kiss. “Of course I do,” he tells him. “God, TJ, you’ve got no idea. I want to do so many things to you.” He’s been masturbating to thoughts of the younger man for a truly inappropriate amount of time, now. Steve feels his cheeks heat at the thought of it. “But I’m not going to have sex with you, not now.” TJ groans and starts to complain, but Steve shuts him up with another kiss. “Make out with me,” he murmurs against his lips. “And keep rubbing off on me.” He slots a thigh between TJ’s legs, smirking when TJ’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t say we couldn’t do anything.” 

If he were stronger, he’d be telling TJ to go back to his room, insisting that they go out on dates first. He’d really ease into things and treat TJ like the utter virgin that he is. 

But Steve is a weak, weak man. “Go on,” he says. “Make yourself feel good. I want to watch.”

TJ groans at the offer and nods. He wraps his arms around Steve’s body, holding him close and urging him to push down against him. Steve obliges, fascinated and turned on by TJ’s reactions, the expressions on his face. He’s eager, excited. The blue of his eyes holds an edge of nervousness to it that Steve remembers feeling when he’d given his virginity to Bucky seven years ago. He smiles down at TJ, wanting him to feel good about this. 

It must help, because TJ exhales harshly and pulls Steve down by the back of his head, mashing their mouths together to kiss him frantically. It’s not exactly coordinated but Steve helps him along, holding TJ’s jaw and slowing things down, showing him how to draw out the kisses, how to tease. 

TJ adapts, always the fast learner. When his breath gets too short and his hips start jerking more erratically against Steve’s thigh, Steve knows he’s close. He pulls back and gazes into his eyes. “Come on, TJ,” he murmurs hotly. “You want it so bad, I know. Just let it happen.”

TJ’s eyes slam shut and he gasps as his fingers grip Steve’s shoulders tighter than ever. Seconds later he’s crying out desperately as he comes. Steve’s cock throbs at hearing the hot sounds, the sight of the younger man shooting off in a sticky mess inside his pajama pants. It’s such a stereotype—grinding and coming in your pants like a teenager, but Steve wanted that. He wants to give TJ all of those typical ‘firsts’. He feels satisfaction run through him at having given TJ this one. “There you go,” he purrs. “God, TJ, so fucking hot.”

TJ groans, going limp after the pleasure has washed over him. He lifts his eyes again and peers up at Steve; those beautiful grey eyes that are so similar and yet so different from Bucky’s. Steve swallows heavily, unexpectedly affected by that look. “Fuck,” he breathes. Suddenly he’s the one who’s rushing to get off. He shoves his hand down the front of his briefs, grabbing his dick and rubbing off jerkily—just at the head, just to get there fast. Steve knows himself. It takes less than a minute before his balls are drawing up and he’s coming. It’s a sharp, condensed sort of orgasm that hits him like a mac truck. It takes his breath away and he winds up burying his face next to TJ’s neck, gasping into the sheets.

He’s only just started to come back to himself when he feels TJ’s hands smoothing over his back. He picks up his head and looks. TJ’s grinning at him. “Wow,” he says. “Please tell me we can do that again in ten minutes.”

Steve huffs a laugh and drops his head back down. “No,” he says against the sheets. “No way. I’m taking you on a date first.”

.oOo.

It takes Steve almost twenty minutes of walking around Avengers tower, trying to find TJ, before he finally caves and looks up to the ceiling to ask Jarvis to help him. Jarvis directs him to the eightieth floor. Steve blinks, surprised, but listens and takes the elevator up. It’s where Tony lives, Steve knows. What would TJ be doing there?

He gets his answer not long after he arrives. Stepping out of the elevator, Steve sees nobody but he can hear faint music. Piano. He makes his way through the common areas of Tony’s floor, feeling kind of awkward for being there. Steve’s had clearance for almost every level of the tower for years now, but it still feels weird to be in somebody’s living space when he knows for a fact that said person is away. Still, Steve is curious about why TJ is on the floor, so he continues on. He follows the faint sound of music like a trail.

His hand turning the doorknob must alert TJ to his presence, because by the time Steve has swung the door open, the sound of the music has abruptly cut off. TJ looks at him with wide eyes from where he’s seated on the piano bench, hands frozen over the keys like he’s been caught doing something bad. “Steve,” he says. “How’d you…”

Steve walks over. “I asked Jarvis where you were.”

“Oh.” TJ looks down, abashed. 

Steve cants his head in curiosity. “How long have you been doing this?”

“I dunno. A couple of weeks?”

Steve’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “That can’t be,” he says. The sounds of what he’d heard from out in the hall hadn’t sounded like the kind of piano playing a person could learn in a couple of _months_, let alone weeks. “TJ,” Steve asks carefully. “What is that you were playing?”

“…Chopin,” TJ says after glancing at the music that’s laid out against the piano. He pronounces the composer’s name wrong, which is equal parts endearing and distressing to Steve. How crazy is it that the kid is effortlessly playing _Chopin_, when he doesn’t even know how to pronounce his name? 

“How did you learn this so fast?” Steve asks. “Did Jarvis teach you?” 

“No,” TJ mumbles. He’s started up a silent trace of his fingers over the keys, as if he wants to go on playing, but not in front of Steve. 

“You taught yourself how to read music?” Steve asks incredulously. His tone only seems to make TJ draw further into himself, so he refrains from prying further. It’s not like TJ hasn’t learned other things at an alarmingly fast rate. Still, Steve can’t help but wonder if TJ is some sort of musical prodigy. He decides to ask Jarvis about it later when TJ isn’t around—for whatever reason, Steve gets the feeling that TJ might be embarrassed about this. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m just impressed is all. You’re very good, you know.” He sits next to him on the bench but in the opposite direction, his legs facing away from the piano. 

“Thank you,” TJ says quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

TJ shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I just… I thought it’d be nice to have it for myself.” He looks up at Steve. “I realized the other day that I don’t have any secrets.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And that… bothers you?” He can tell from TJ’s pinched expression, that it does.

“Everybody knows everything about me,” TJ says. “Everything there is to know is printed in some computer file. There wasn’t one thing about me that was private when I came out of the facility, you know?” 

“Oh.” In all honesty, Steve hasn’t thought about this. “So… what’s bothering you?”

TJ twists his lips and looks away. “Nothing. It’s fine. I just… once I started playing and it came so easy, I thought maybe it’d been something that Bucky did when he was alive.” 

Steve starts to open his mouth to tell him that Bucky never played any instruments, but TJ continues,

“Jarvis told me he didn’t. And you know what? I was so relieved.”

Steve frowns. “Why?”

“Because it meant there was something special about me that’s just _me_, you know?” TJ peeks up at him. “It makes me feel like a real person.”

“Oh, TJ… you _are_ a real person.” Steve feels like crap hearing TJ say these things, because he’s not stupid—when TJ talks about not being a ‘real person’ (and he has before), it’s his low self-esteem showing through. “TJ,” Steve prods, wanting acknowledgement. “You _are_. You’re valuable, and unique.”

TJ hums in a non-answer, runs his fingers over the keys. “Well this makes me feel like it, at least. I wasn’t going to hide it from you forever, just for a little while.” He looks at Steve for a reaction. “Is that selfish?”

“Aw, TJ… no.” Steve places his hand atop TJ’s where it rests on the keys. “You’re allowed to keep things to yourself. I just think it’s great that you’re finding things you enjoy. It makes me happy.”

TJ smiles. “Yeah. It’s like you and your paintings.” He sounds almost proud of that, and Steve is struck by the memory of when TJ had come into his studio and worried over whether he’d ever have any useful skills, or a place in life to employ them.

Steve encourages the idea, saying, “Yeah it is. You sounded really professional.” He stops and thinks, wanting to offer anything he can to TJ, to help. “You know… I know a lot of people at the local community college. There’s a music department. I’m sure I could arrange for some private lessons for you, if you’d like.”

TJ’s eyes get wide. “Really? I mean, that would be amazing.” He falters though, looking doubtful. “But, um… I don’t know if I could do it.”

“What do you mean? Of course you could.”

TJ blushes, looking away. “No. I don’t think… I mean there’s probably so much I don’t know.” He gestures at the piano’s keyboard. “I only learned this because I watched some YouTube videos and Tony said I could practice up here.”

Steve huffs. “I can’t believe he kept this to himself.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t very good when he first left me to it.”

“Well you’re amazing now,” Steve insists. He reaches out and takes TJ’s hand in his. He hates seeing the self-doubt on TJ’s face. “You have a natural talent for this. If it’s something you really like, you should pursue it.”

TJ bites his lip. “You mean like do it for a job one day?”

“Yeah, if you want. We could see about enrolling you in some music courses at the college.”

TJ tries to pull his hand back, frowning when Steve doesn’t let him go. “I’m not smart enough for that,” he argues. “I don’t know enough.”

“Teej, I think you do. I’m talking about composition classes, musical theory. Whatever reading and writing skills you’d need, you pretty much have now. And you _are_ smart. Don’t talk about yourself like you’re dumb. So you suck at math and don’t know who Marie Antoinette was, or whatever. You have an IQ of 127.”

TJ flushes. “Did Jarvis tell you that?”

“You already read music and play piano beautifully. I really think you could carry your own in a class or two.” Steve watches TJ’s expression carefully, sees the exact moment when he really considers Steve’s idea, maybe even starts to believe in it. It makes Steve feel so good, knowing that he planted that seed. “Just something to think about,” he says finally, patting TJ’s hand and releasing it. He stands from the bench. “Come on, we’ve got somewhere to be. Or did you forget?”

TJ looks at him blankly for a second, but then his expression clears and the grin that splits his face is dazzling. “Oh yeah! Our date!” 

Steve laughs at his enthusiasm. “Yep. You’re not excited about that, are you?”

“Of course I am!” TJ hops up from his seat and takes Steve’s hand, pulling him in the direction of the elevators. “This is your obligatory ‘do something nice and couple-oriented with TJ so that I can feel not guilty about having sex with him’ date.”

Steve frowns heavily at having his intentions so blithely summed up. “No it’s not!” he protests. When TJ looks back at him with a raised eyebrow, Steve blushes and amends, “Well it’s not _just_ because of sex. I do actually want to take you out, you know?”

TJ’s grin turns less teasing and more sweet. He steps up closer and puts his hands on Steve’s chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve bends down and kisses him. “You deserve to be with someone who treats you right. Someone who takes you out places and shows you a good time. Someone who—”

“Brings me home from said places and fucks me silly?” TJ asks.

Steve groans. “Never should’ve touched you,” he complains. “Should have made you wait.”

“Are you kidding me?” TJ asks, fake-outraged. “I would’ve exploded by now!”

Steve snorts. The elevator arrives with a ‘ding’ and he pulls TJ inside. “Our floor,” he tells Jarvis. “You’ve been fine for this long,” he tells TJ, amused. 

“Yeah but most of that was before I knew you wanted me,” TJ argues. He steps closer, trapping Steve against the wall. His eyes flick up and down his body meaningfully. “You think it’s easy being cooped up with somebody who looks like _you_ and not being able to do something about it?”

Steve’s breath catches from the way TJ’s looking at him—eyes hot and full of desire. He licks his lips nervously. “Yeah, well… just let me have this one night, okay? Let me treat you like an actual boyfriend, then you can have what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Promise?” TJ’s expression is hungry.

“Promise.”

.oOo.

It’s a charity ballet that Steve takes TJ to that night. Half of the performers for the event are professional dancers, and the other half are celebrities—Natasha is one of them. In the auditorium, Steve has gotten them box seats, which TJ seems to enjoy. 

“Gotta say, even though I don’t know her very well, I never thought I’d see the day when Natasha would voluntarily wear a tutu,” he whispers to Steve when the final number has been announced and the dancers are taking their places on stage. “Doesn’t seem like her style.”

Steve chuckles. “Believe me, it’s not. And I wouldn’t call this voluntary. I’m pretty sure Pepper roped her into it somehow. That woman takes her charity work seriously. She even managed to threaten Bucky into an event of two, back in the day.”

TJ looks amused. “I thought you said he was an unsociable hermit?”

“Oh, he was.” There’s a private little smirk on Steve’s lips as he admits, “I may had helped her with the threatening.”

TJ laughs, and they both go back to paying attention to the last few minutes of the performance. The dancers are beautiful and Natasha fits in seamlessly with her movements. Steve enjoys watching the ballet in a general sort of way, but he can tell that TJ is riveted. He’s hardly looked away from the stage the entire time they’ve been there. His hands have held on to one of Steve’s, grip tightening in excitement whenever the music crescendos and the dancers leap through the air. 

It makes that butterfly-in-the-stomach feeling happen to Steve, whenever he sees TJ truly happy like this, whenever he’s able to feel responsible for making TJ happy. 

He misses the last few moments of the ballet because he’s too caught up in watching TJ face, but that’s okay. It doesn’t feel like a loss.

.oOo.

After the curtain falls, they purchase flowers and make their way backstage to find Natasha and congratulate her on her performance. She scowls as soon as she sees them, hastily removing her costume and grabbing a robe from one of the stagehands instead. She’s just finishing tying it on over her leotard when she makes her way over to them, a wry look twisting her lips. “I hope you enjoyed it,” she says. “Because that’s the last time you’ll ever see me in a tutu.”

Steve laughs and TJ shoves the bouquet of roses at her. “You were amazing!” he says. “I didn’t know you used to be a ballerina.”

“I wasn’t,” she says. Her blunt tone makes TJ frown and backtrack awkwardly,

“Oh …um. Well I just assumed. You weren’t?” 

She shakes her head.

“Oh.”

“But it was a beautiful performance,” Steve says. “You’re good for agreeing to do it. Pepper texted me during intermission that they raised over fifty grand tonight.” 

“Yeah well, I’m sure that has more to do with some of the _actual_ celebrities who participated,” she drawls. Her eyes cut across the stage to where a famous actress is standing, still in her tutu and signing autographs for a couple of fans. She smirks. “It was fun though. TJ, thanks for coming. Did you have fun?”

“Yes!”

“Good. I’m glad.” She nods her head at Steve. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone? I need to talk with your boyfriend for a minute.”

TJ beams at Natasha for her use of the term ‘boyfriend’, and agrees, heading away to talk to the other dancers. Nat watches him go. “It’s working out, with him,” she says, not bothering to make it a question. Her eyes are still on TJ, watching. “It’s getting serious.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees stiffly. He doesn’t have the patience to pretend that he doesn’t know what Natasha needed him alone for. “What happened in Eastern Europe?” he asks, referencing her last mission, that last, cryptic meeting they’d had on the helipad. “Did you figure out who was killing the operatives?”

She turns fully to him, and Steve instantly sees compassion in her eyes. “It wasn’t him, Steve,” she says. “You know that’s impossible.”

He does, but that doesn’t stop his heart from squeezing painfully anyway. Ridiculous. Why should he feel disappointed that his _dead_ husband isn’t murdering people all over Europe? “I know,” he says. “I know that. So, did you find out who’s doing it?”

Natasha blinks a couple of times in that way that Steve knows means she’s frustrated. “…No,” she says. “Whoever it was, was careful, covered her tracks well.”

“How do you know it was a she?”

“The last two victims were holed up in a facility we used to use. Biometric access only. Whoever’s doing this had to have been Red Room, and there were never any men in there, only Widows.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “I see.”

Natasha must be able to read the disappointment that he’s so badly trying to suppress, because she reaches up and touches his cheek briefly. “_Steve_,”

“It’s okay. I know. It was stupid to think it could’ve been him.” 

“Stupid, but human.” 

Steve shakes his head, trying to fight his emotions away. He doesn’t want to ruin this night with TJ. “Well thanks for telling me, anyway,” he mumbles. 

“Course.” 

He feels childish for letting even the smallest part of himself entertain the fantasy that Bucky could’ve somehow magically been alive. He scoffs quietly and wipes a hand over his face. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Yeah, well believe me, it happens to the worst of us.” She indicates herself with a wry look. “And you’re too damned hopeful for your own good, Rogers. Men like you should never fall in love.” Steve barks out a laugh that’s only a little watery, and she shoves his shoulder. “Pull yourself together and live in the now, Steve. It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

“Yeah? And how am I supposed to do that?” 

“Well, you’ve got a date that’s about to be poached by a couple of handsy ballerinas. Might want to start there.”

Steve perks up, eyes jerking back over to TJ and… yep, the kid is floundering as two of the dancers crowd him into a corner with what looks like some very vigorous flirting. “Okay,” he says, moving away. “Yeah I better go handle that. Thanks for the uh, advice Nat.”

Nat smirks, nods and leaves. 

Steve walks across the stage. “TJ,”

The way that TJ’s eyes fly to him, large and full of relief, is almost comical. “Steve, hey.”

Steve smiles. The ballerinas look unsure, their eyes flying back and forth between TJ and him. One of them seems like she’s considering switching her efforts to Steve, but the other looks like she might get territorial of TJ, if Steve tries to take him away. “Sorry ladies,” Steve excuses, taking TJ by the crook of the elbow and pulling him close. “This one’s taken.”

The girls pout as they leave. Steve kisses the side of TJ’s head and whispers. “Ready to head home?”

“Yes.” 

Steve smiles and threads their fingers together, starts leading TJ towards the exit. “Come on.”

.oOo.

At home, it’s very quiet inside the apartment. Steve pauses when they’re in the living room, unsure if he should do something, waste time somehow, give TJ the chance to change his—

“Hey.” TJ’s hands appear on his hips from behind, and then Steve feels the cool-warm drag of his lips against his neck. He’s brushing the barest of kisses onto the skin above Steve’s collar. “You nervous?” TJ asks.

Steve scoffs. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

TJ’s hands move. He turns Steve around so that they’re facing. Head on like this, Steve is taller by an inch, maybe two. He’s not used to that. Even after the serum, he’d always been on equal footing with Bucky. TJ is looking up at Steve with affection in his eyes. “No lines,” he says softly. “Just us, right?”

Steve nods slowly. “Yeah, Teej.”

TJ kisses him, slow and sweet, hands coming up Steve’s arms, his shoulders. Steve exhales shakily, unexpectedly affected by the kiss and TJ’s forwardness. He pulls him closer by the lower back, slides a hand up the center of his back, up over the crisp material of his suit jacket. When he’s got a hand curled behind TJ’s neck he says, “You looked so good tonight, you know. All dressed up.”

TJ smiles. “Yeah?” He kisses him. “You did too. Just wanted to undress you all night, touch you. Every time I looked at you.” He fingers the lapel of Steve’s jacket. “Take this off?” he asks.

Steve inhales sharply and tugs him in hard for another kiss, only this time he really takes control of it, tilting his head to slot their mouths together, pressing, pushing, licking in with his tongue. He savors TJ’s thready whine, taking his mouth for another few moments before he allows himself to pull back. TJ’s eyes, when they open, are lust-blown. “Oh,” he breathes. “S-steve.”

“Come on.” He grabs TJ’s hand, pulls him back toward the bedrooms. He hesitates by his door though, glancing back and asking, “My room or yours?”

“Yours.” TJ pushes Steve in the direction of his room. “Want to be naked on your sheets.”

Steve groans and allows TJ to push him inside. The door is barely closed before their hands are all over each other, hurriedly pushing at each other’s clothing as they kiss frantically. “Mmph, mm, wait. TJ…” Steve forces himself to stop kissing, takes the time to focus enough on actually undressing. “Here, wait, here.” His fingers are only slightly shaky as they undo the other man’s bowtie. TJ looks at him with a heated stare while he unfastens it, then pulls it free. 

“You too,” TJ whispers. He steps back, steps away and starts undressing himself. “Steve,” he urges, when Steve gets distracted watching him and makes no progress on his own clothes. TJ chuckles. “Come on. Get undressed. Let me see you.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told again. He hurriedly undresses, feeling only mildly guilty about how he lets the expensive suit fall to a crumpled heap on the floor. He comes back to TJ when they’re both just in their underwear, his hands reaching out to stop TJ’s fingers on his waistband. “Let me,” he murmurs. 

TJ’s lips part, and he nods. He stares heatedly at Steve as his fingers find the edge of his briefs and start pulling down. He’s bared slowly, cock hard and straining as it’s freed. Steve affords it only a brief glance before looking back to TJ’s face. There’s a blush staining his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away. He swallows heavily and kicks the fabric away, pulls Steve in close. “Kiss me,” he breathes, vulnerable and sweet and completely receptive when Steve slots their mouths together. One of them, Steve’s not entirely sure who, groans into the kiss, and TJ’s hands grab Steve’s ass over his underwear, squeezing and pulling his hips forward in a dirty grind. 

They’re both hard. It feels so _good_ to rub together, TJ’s cock hot and hard right next to his. “Fuck,” he gasps against TJ’s mouth. “TJ, god. Lay down on the bed, honey. Let me see you.”

TJ obeys. He crawls back and splays himself out on Steve’s bed, putting himself on display, open and eager in a way that is just too beautiful to Steve. He looks so _trusting_, like he’s offering himself up to Steve. “Shit,” he whispers. He grabs himself from over the fabric of his underwear, squeezing the line of his erection and giving himself a firm stroke. He watches as TJ’s eyes zero in on the movement. “Touch yourself,” Steve says, desperately wanting to watch, to see how TJ wraps his fingers over his cock, how he makes himself feel good. Steve has a sudden flash of the time he’d walked in on TJ in the shower, how he’d caught him jerking off underneath the spray. Arousal pulses low in his belly and he starts stroking himself off over the underwear.

TJ’s hand has snaked lower, rubbing flat over his stomach, the crest of his groin. He bites his lip and wraps his fingers around himself, starts stroking in time with Steve. He looks so flushed and eager, it’s like a dream. Steve can’t tear his eyes away, can’t keep from raking his gaze up and down the beautiful body that’s just been bared to him. “Baby,” he breathes, feeling so possessive of TJ, so wanting. “God, you look…”

“Uh huh,” TJ breathes. “You too. Steve, oh—” he cuts off in a soft gasp. He’s done something with his hand, touched himself in some way that must feel really damn good. It makes his eyes go half-lidded, his lips part as he breathes in soft pants, spit slick lips more tempting than they have any right to be. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Steve grunts quietly and lets go of himself. He hastily sheds his briefs and crawls onto the bed, over TJ’s prone form. TJ’s immediately receptive, releasing his cock and reaching to pull Steve down, pull him fully on top of him. Their hips settle, TJ’s legs parting for him as if on instinct. “Oh, Steve,” TJ pants, hips already rolling up, rocking their cocks together where they’re trapped between their bellies. “Yeah. Ooh,”

Steve kisses him, deep and filthy, tonguing wetly into his mouth and gripping his hip harshly. “Shh,” he soothes once he’s pulled back. “S’good, right?”

TJ nods, fast, desperate. “Uh-huh.” He’s moving his hips in little pulses, his cock so heavy alongside Steve’s. “Can we?” he asks.

“Whatever you want, Teej,” Steve says. He dips down and starts placing kisses along his jaw, encouraging. “We can do anything. What do you want?”

TJ moans. “Want you to fuck me,” he says. His heels hooks behind Steve’s thighs, drawing him in and holding him close, making Steve’s cock slip lower, pushing against the soft weight of his balls. “Please.”

Steve groans, because of course that’s what he wants. He wants to pull TJ tight against him and rut until he comes, wants to feel how soft and hot his insides are. He wants to fuck into him, take him and use him and swallow down all the sobs he makes when he comes apart. “Okay,” Steve breathes, trying to calm himself down. “Okay, yeah. Hang on.”

He digs around in the bedside drawer to get what he needs. TJ watches him as he uncaps the lube and slicks his fingers, and even though Steve knows the kid’s feeling good and trying to be brave, there’s still a nervous edge to his eyes. He’s never done this before. Steve pauses in what he’s doing. “Hey,” he soothes, petting his clean hand over TJ’s flank. “You alright?”

TJ swallows and nods, eyes bright. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah I am. Promise.”

Steve smiles at him. He leans down and kisses him sweetly. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises. Then he brings his slicked fingers down to trace between his cheeks, over the tight pucker of his hole. TJ shivers and Steve watches his expression keenly. He rubs the slick around, just massaging and rubbing with gentle pressure, not pushing enough to penetrate him. “Real slow,” he promises. “Gonna take our time, okay?” TJ nods shakily, agreeing. “Touch yourself while I open you up, baby.”

TJ flushes, but he nods and grabs the lube, wetting his hand and going back to stroking himself off. When Steve presses in with the first finger, it makes TJ’s eyes go wide and his lips form a surprised ‘o’. Steve smiles. “How is it?”

“Oh, it’s…” TJ doesn’t answer, just focuses on the sensations as Steve fingers him gently. It’s obvious from the pinch on his brow, when the curl of Steve’s finger finally drags over his prostate. “Ooh,” he whimpers, licking his lips and pushing down onto the penetration. “F-fuck. Steve.”

“Mmhm,” Steve encourages. He thrusts his finger shallowly, not adding another until TJ’s hand is jerking roughly and his cock is rock hard and leaking. “Try not to come,” he tells him calmly. “I want to be inside you when you come.”

TJ gasps and nods, fingers instantly loosening on himself. “Yeah, yeah. Please.” He squirms down against Steve’s hand. “God, Steve. That…what you’re doing… feels so good.”

“I know, I know.” Steve rubs his free hand soothingly over TJ’s thigh, his lower stomach. He eases a third finger inside, twisting them, fighting to get TJ’s body to loosen for him. “You’re so beautiful, Teej,” he whispers. “So gorgeous, letting me do this to you.”

TJ whimpers and nods. “Love it,” he says. “Feels… ugh.” His eyes clamp shut at another firm drag of Steve’s fingertips over his prostate. His fingers twitch where he’s loosely grasping his cock, precome blurting from the head. “Please,” he says again. “Steve, in me. Come on. I’m ready.”

Steve pulls his hand back and grabs the condom. He knows it probably isn’t necessary; TJ’s a virgin and Steve can’t catch anything, but he’s not going to waste time talking it out with him now. They can decide to go bare next time, if they want. When he’s rolled the condom on and slicked himself up, he holds the head pressed to TJ’s entrance, waiting for permission. “Ready?” he asks.

TJ’s answer is to kiss him and press down against it. Steve gasps and his hips shudder forward and he’s suddenly slipping inside of TJ, cock pushing past the initial resistance and sliding home into all of that perfect warmth. Steve grunts and TJ gasps, fingers digging sharply into the backs of Steve’s shoulders. “Oh!”

Steve fights to hold still, even though TJ’s body feesl amazing and all he wants to do is fuck him hard and fast. “Oh, fuck,” he groans. TJ’s response is to whimper, and Steve pulls his head back quickly, eyes snapping to attention to regard his face. “Are you okay?” he breathes.

TJ’s eyes are closed, his features screwed up in what could be pleasure or pain. “Yeah,” he pants, and opens his eyes. His pupils are blown. “Fuck, it’s so much.”

“You’re okay,” Steve says. He pecks a kiss to his lips. “Tilt your hips up. Wrap your legs around me.”

TJ listens, inhaling sharply when the movement makes Steve’s cock shift inside of him. “Oh!”

“Shshsh. You’re fine.” Steve thumbs at the corner of TJ’s eye, coaxing him to open up and look at him. He smiles softly when he does. “When you’re ready,” he promises him. “You tell me when.”

This seems to help TJ relax. He smiles shakily and nods. 

“Here.” Steve reaches between them and takes TJ’s cock in hand. He starts stroking him, coaxing him back to full hardness. He tries not to move his hips but can’t seem to keep from rocking slightly—just a shallow motion, more pulsing pressure than anything else. TJ responds to it, hips chasing the motions, encouraging Steve to move more.

“Deeper,” he says, eyes flitting excitedly over Steve’s face. “Steve, feels good. More.”

Steve pulls out and thrusts back in, and _god_, but does it feel good. TJ groans and moves with him, and that’s all the permission Steve needs to really start moving. He rolls his hips, fucking TJ with smooth, deep rolls of his hips. TJ buries his face in Steve’s neck and pants and gasps, rocking against him desperately. Between them, Steve’s hand is roughly batted away as TJ takes himself in hand and starts jerking off frantically. Steve curses. “Fuck, you close already honey?”

TJ nods, tight and fast. “Uh huh.” He groans at a particularly firm shove of Steve’s hips. “Fuck, Steve… oh, right there. Just like that.”

Steve’s guts clench hard in arousal at the command. He snaps his hips hard, wanting to give TJ all the pleasure he’s chasing. “Yeah?” he breathes shakily. He keeps fucking him, hard, hard, hips curling just so, feeling TJ’s hot breath, his fist between their bellies where he’s jerking himself off. “God, TJ, you’re so close. Come on baby, let me see you come.”

TJ’s body locks up, his ass pulsing down against Steve’s cock and his face pinching up in the most gorgeous way. “Ah-ah!” He shoots off between them, hot and wet. 

Steve is _done_ for. He groans gutturally and lets himself go, fucking faster and harder and without coordination. The hot, sweet clutch of TJ’s body is enough to get him there in only a few more thrusts, and he comes with a loud groan.

TJ’s hands are running up and down the overheated skin off his back, feeling him, holding him close as he comes down from his orgasm. Steve opens his eyes and is met by TJ’s lazy, satisfied gaze. They both exhale shakily, breath mixing between them. “You okay?” Steve asks. 

“Oh.” TJ’s eyes slip shut as he pants. He nods. “Mmhm.” 

Steve smiles, then winces as he feels TJ’s body clench down in an aftershock. It pushes his spent and softening cock halfway out and he has to reach down to take hold of himself and pull out. He discards the condom and rolls onto his side, pulling TJ along with him—his back to Steve’s front. Steve hooks a leg over his, wraps arms around his chest and stomach. TJ hums when Steve starts mouthing lazily along his neck. “Feel good?” he asks.

“Yeah.” TJ hums happily. “Can we lay here for a little while?”

“Of course.” Steve holds him tighter. “Close your eyes. I’ll wake you up in a little bit to clean off.”

TJ nods, stilling where he lies. A few minutes later he says quietly, “Steve? Could I um, could I sleep in here with you, tonight?”

Steve hugs him tightly, unhappy at the uncertainty in TJ’s voice. “TJ, of course.” He cups his jaw and turns his face enough that he can kiss him. “TJ, this wasn’t… this isn’t a casual thing, alright. You have to know that? All that talk about being your boyfriend... I meant it.”

TJ blinks at him. “Yeah?” Steve nods and TJ bites his lip, looking shy. “Do you… do you love me?”

Steve’s lips part, ready to answer, but he falls short. He doesn’t miss how TJ’s eyes shutter. “Hey, hey,” he says. He tugs on TJ to get him to turn around, putting them face to face. “I care about you, TJ. I took you to bed because I want you.” He kisses him firmly. “Do you believe me?”

TJ’s voice is small when he nods and says, “Yes.” 

“Good.” Steve holds his chin and kisses him for longer this time, shallow and soft. When he pulls back, TJ seems reassured. “I want you all the time,” Steve tells him. “You’re always welcome to sleep in here with me okay?”

TJ smiles and nods, looking down at the sheets between them, instead of Steve’s face. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I want that, too.”

“Good.” Steve pulls him in close and encourages him to lie his head down against the pillow, near the level of Steve’s chest. “Close your eyes for a minute,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Steve can’t be sure, but he thinks TJ might be smiling when he squirms in place and says, “Okay.”


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March, 2020--41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

After they start sleeping together, it’s like a whole new world opens up between Steve and TJ.

A little bit of time passes. Steve’s therapist tells him he doesn’t seem so depressed anymore, which is strangely jarring to hear. 

After Bucky’s death and Steve’s first few, hesitant trips to therapy, a diagnosis, they discovered that antidepressants didn’t work on his serum-enhanced body. But Steve had always been okay with that, viewing his sadness as something that he just had to bear, a testament to his love for Bucky and how much it hurt to be without him, even a year, two years later. Hadn’t he been reserving that last, sad pocket of his mind for Bucky? Mourning him just a little every day? 

Steve smiles shakily at his therapist when she tells him, agreeing that it’s a good thing that he’s recovering. Inside his head though, he feels wrong and doesn’t agree at all. If he’s getting over Bucky, that’s not okay. It feels like a betrayal, makes him feel like shit.

When TJ asks him what’s wrong that night—perceptive freaking genius clone that he is—Steve lies and gives him a placating kiss on the cheek, goes for a fifteen-mile run around the city to avoid him. TJ’s asleep in Steve’s bed when he gets back to the tower, and Steve showers and changes into pajamas, climbs under the covers and holds TJ close. 

He does that thing he does where he looks to the side of himself where TJ isn’t sleeping, imagines another pillow there and Bucky lying there staring at him. “S’not wrong, is it?” he whisper-asks, so quiet that it’ll never wake TJ. He imagines Bucky, smirking at him and making some comment about even Steve needing to get laid after two years. But not-Bucky’s smug reply doesn’t make Steve feel any better. He imagines confessing to not-Bucky, “I might love him.” 

Not-Bucky’s eyes get sad, even though he still smiles softly at Steve. “Yeah,” he says. “I know babe. I know.”

.oOo.

Steve wakes up in the morning with TJ against his side—warm and sleepy and good—and he realizes that he really _hasn’t_ felt sad or lost in days, maybe even a week or more. His therapist is right. He’s just been… happy.

“I love you,” he whispers to TJ, before the kid is awake enough to really process it. His intent is to just test the words out, see how they feel on his tongue, in the quiet air of the bedroom. Turns out, they don’t feel wrong. 

.oOo. 

“Ooh, how about this one? Says his name is Henry, but we can change it, right? He won’t know the difference.”

Steve peeks his head out of the hall closet and before he can stop himself says, “What’s wrong with 'Henry'?” TJ’s whole face lights up. Steve backtracks with a firm, “No. TJ, _no_.”

“Just come look at him!” TJ cries, enthused by Steve’s momentary lapse. “Come on, he’s so cute! You’ll love him!”

Steve sighs, resting his forehead on the open closet door and trying to steel his resolve. This has been his battle the last two weeks. TJ started classes at the community college and one of his classmates has shown him how to download apps onto his Starkphone. Now he’s downloaded a dog adoption app and all he wants in the world is to get a dog. Preferably a fluffy-as-shit toy breed mix, it seems. Steve is trying _so hard_ to resist.

“We’ve talked about this,” he says again, using his patient, “I’m the adult in this relationship” voice. “Dogs take a lot of work. Especially rescues. You have to feed them and walk them and you don’t know what kind of behavioral issues they’re going to come with.”

“So?” TJ counters, voice petulant now. “You didn’t know what you were getting with me.”

Steve’s stomach turns sour at hearing that. He peeks around the closet door again to scowl at TJ. “You’re a _person_, TJ. A human being. It’s different.”

“How?”

Steve scoffs, goes back to surveying the contents of the closet. He’d been going for his jacket, intending to take a jog in the crisp March weather. His eyes, however, linger to the right side of the closet where he’s always kept a bunch of Bucky’s old things—jackets, rifle cases, crates of books and records. He frowns as he notices that some of the things seem to have been moved around. He reaches for the crates, straightening them back out. He can’t tell if anything’s missing, but…

“—I mean if I’m such a real, human being person, then why can’t I choose to take on the responsibility of—”

“TJ,” Steve says, cutting him off. “Did you go through any of this stuff in the closet?”

TJ gets quiet. The next thing Steve knows, he’s right there, standing by his side and peering in. “What? No,” he says.

Steve huffs, annoyed. “You don’t have to lie, just tell me.”

TJ looks taken aback, and then he scowls at Steve. “I’m not lying.”

“Look, it’s his stuff,” Steve says, nearly snaps even though he’s trying to stay calm. He just feels suddenly, unbearably pissed off that TJ would go through Bucky’s things without asking. Steve leans his weight through his hands where they’re on either side of the door jamb, stares down hard at the floor and says, “I like to leave it where it is, you know that. So if you touched it, just—”

“I didn’t touch his fucking stuff! Jesus. Why would I? S’just a bunch of boring commando gear anyways.” 

“This stuff is special to me, TJ!” Steve snaps. “These were his things. He’s dead. It’s all I have left of him.”

TJ’s eyes narrow. “I _know_ that. Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then _stay_ away from it, okay?!”

TJ’s face bleeds from anger, to hurt, and then back to anger, and then he turns away and stomps off to his bedroom. 

Steve can hear it when the door slams shut. He sighs, eyes slipping closed in near-immediate regret. “Fuck,” he whispers. Where the fuck had that come from? He peeks up at Bucky’s stuff again, feeling foolish for having reacted the way he did. Twisting his lips, he reaches out and fingers at the cuff of Bucky’s old corduroy jacket. Steve had hated that jacket. It was worn and stained and unfashionable, and he’d always made fun of Bucky for keeping it. Now, two years after his husband’s death, Steve hasn’t even considered throwing it out. He lets go of the worn fabric, pushes away from the closet and gives it one last weary glance. Nothing probably got moved, he thinks. He just overreacted. Sighing, he closes the closet doors with an air of finality. He’s going to owe TJ an apology.

.oOo.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. He’s just opened TJ’s bedroom door after knocking, is peeking in the barest bit but won’t cross the threshold without permission. This is TJ’s space, and if he’s pissed at Steve, he should feel like he has the safety of his own room to retreat to. “Can I come in? I’d like to talk.” TJ’s clacking away at his laptop, probably doing coursework of some sort. He ignores Steve for a full minute, until Steve finally breaks and repeats himself, “Teej,”

“Fine.” TJ’s fingers have stilled on the keyboard. He doesn’t turn around in his swivel desk chair though. 

Steve enters the room carefully, closing the door most of the way behind himself, even though there’s no one else in the apartment to shut out for privacy. He steps across the room and lingers by the foot of the bed, before finally deciding to sit down on it. TJ’s stiff back is facing him and Steve inhales deeply, figuring that the terse silence is his opening. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For snapping at you out there.”

TJ remains quiet and stiff. “Kay,” he says.

Steve licks his lips. Fuck, he hates this. Hasn’t had a couple’s squabble in so long. “I’m sorry I accused you of doing something you didn’t do, and for not believing you. I’m sorry for thinking you’d lie to me about that.”

Finally, TJ acknowledges him. He turns around in his swivel chair, and he’s frowning at Steve in hurt, not anger, which is a relief. “I wouldn’t lie, Steve,” he says. 

Steve winces. “I know. TJ, I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t. I just, I thought his stuff was moved around and I guess I must’ve jostled it when I was getting my coat out or something, or maybe you…” he pauses, frowns. “No, you know what, that doesn’t even matter. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” He meets TJ’s eyes, trying to show him how bad he feels through his gaze. He thinks that TJ sees it, which is a relief. 

“Sometimes I feel like you’ll always be with him, more than you are with me,” TJ whispers. It catches Steve off guard, and his eyes fly up, startled.

“I—what?”

TJ’s lips thin and he gives a little shrug. “You keep all his stuff around—and I don’t think you shouldn’t—” he rushes to say. “I know how much you loved him, and I see him all over the apartment and that’s fine, but then when you go and flip out on me for something so small, it makes me feel like I’m nothing.” TJ blushes and averts his gaze, murmurs, “…not even compared to the memory of him.”

Steve deflates. “Aw, hell TJ. Baby, no.” He gets up and goes over, pulls TJ into his arms even though he promised himself he’d give the other man space. Lucky for him, TJ allows it, melting against his body and stuffing his face in Steve’s neck. Steve feels a wave of sadness and regret come over him, that he’s made TJ feel so small. He kisses his hair and tells him, “You’re important, okay? You’re the most important person in my life right now. Please don’t doubt that.”

TJ sniffles and snuggles deeper into Steve’s arms. Steve huffs, backing them up to the bed and sinking down on it, TJ in his lap. With the younger man clinging to him and all apparently forgiven, Steve has the courage to admit, “Part of why I lashed out is because I feel guilty.” TJ makes a quiet noise, confused, and Steve elaborates, “I didn’t know how to move on from him, and for two years that was fine, because I didn’t have to. But then you came along and now we’re together and I have so many feelings for you TJ.” He exhales and squeezes his eyes shut, rubs his cheek against TJ’s curly hair. “Sometimes I feel like I’m letting him down. Betraying the memory of him.”

“By being with me,” TJ says softly. He doesn’t move to get away though, so Steve sighs shakily and admits,

“Yeah. It’s hard. Confusing. Everything’s getting better. My uh, my therapist told me I’m getting better, with some of the problems I’ve had since he died. And it’s true, it is. But hearing it from her, it just really hit me hard,” Steve says. Then, very, very quietly, he admits,“…I feel like I’m leaving him behind.”

TJ makes a small little upset noise at that, and then he does draw back. “No,” he protests softly, taking Steve’s face in his hands. His eyes are pinched in sadness. “Steve, please don’t feel like that.”

Steve shrugs under him. “Can’t help it. I’m sorry I snapped at you. Sorry I—”

TJ cuts him off with a kiss, sudden at first and very firm—intended to shut him up, but then soft and forgiving. He holds their lips together for a long moment before pulling back. Their eyes connect. “It’s okay,” he says. “I understand. I’m not mad anymore.”

Steve grips TJ by the hips firmly, tells him sternly, “Teej, I don’t _ever_ want to make you feel like you’re unimportant, or less than him.”

TJ smiles, though it’s shy and turns doubtful at the end. “He was your husband though. I’m just—”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to cut TJ off, and he does, mashing their mouths together a little harsher than TJ had done. When they part, they’re both a little breathless. They rest their foreheads together and eye one another up with a new sort of understanding. They both smile hesitantly at the same time. “Truce,” Steve says. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re my boyfriend, and you’re important. And yeah I’m a widower and I still… I still miss him. But I’ll tell you how I’m feeling, and I won’t take it out on you.”

TJ smiles. It’s beautiful. Steve doesn’t ever want to see him sad. “Kay,” he says, voice small in that private, happy way he gets. “And Steve you know I promise I’ll never touch his stuff. I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.” Steve’s already shaking his head dismissively. “Hell, it could’ve been Dum-E when he came through for dusting or something.” He’s sure of it. “And TJ? You promise you’ll tell me if you’re ever struggling, right?”

TJ nods, hums and leans in to request more kisses. Steve grants them, though this time he keeps it gentle and leisurely. “Mm,” TJ says between kisses. “Yeah. Promise.” He shuffles his knees on either side of Steve, getting more in place as they kiss, again and again. “Promise.”

Steve’s hands eventually start roaming, up and down TJ’s sides, around his back and over his shoulder blades, feeling up under his tee shirt, the size of him and how he fits in Steve’s hands. This dynamic of having a partner who’s physically smaller than him is still so new to Steve, and he finds himself easily ramping up as they kiss, getting addicted to the feel of TJ in his arms. Before he knows it, he’s halfway hard and holding TJ still as he brings them down on the bed, twisting at just the right moment to make sure he comes out on top. 

TJ sucks in a pleased breath, smiling up at him. “Hey,” he breathes.

“Hey.” Steve’s eyes track his face, taking in all the features he loves. Some are pure Bucky—most, actually—but a few are pure TJ. They’re tiny things, but they matter. The curl of his hair, the color of his eyes, the way he moves all those small facial muscles when he laughs. The lack of age lines. Not Bucky, _TJ_. 

And maybe it’s mostly in his head, Steve thinks. Maybe he only sees it now because he knows him so well, has watched him dance to the radio half-drunk, held him through night terrors and orgasms, heard him bang out Mozart and curse at Jarvis. Seen him laugh at stupid _Mork and Mindy_ reruns. Maybe Steve is completely, undeniably in love with his dead husband’s clone.

But that’s okay. For the first time, Steve feels it in his bones that it’s okay, because it’s TJ. He goes willingly when TJ pulls him down close, happy and content to make out and grind on each other like teenagers for a whole lazy afternoon.

.oOo.

Steve decides to put some of Bucky’s stuff into storage. Really, the “commando” gear, as TJ had referred to it, has no reason to be living in the apartment. If Steve is honest with himself, he’s got no emotional attachments to Bucky’s tac vests and holsters and stuff. It’s a reasonable step in moving forward and growing, his therapist agrees, and Steve asks Jarvis to reserve a small storage unit in the tower. In the Tower, of course. Not far away. 

He visits Bucky’s grave on the tail end of a handful of unseasonably warm days that’ve tricked some of the trees into blossoming. Their puffball blooms are drifting through the air around the cemetery, making it prettier than usual as Steve sits down on the bench by Bucky’s grave. He’s quick to apologize, saying, “Sorry I haven’t been by in a while. It’s been…” he thinks on it, realizes he hasn’t been to Bucky’s grave since before he and TJ started sleeping together. He winces at that, pushes the guilt away. 

It’s just a grave. Steve knows Bucky isn’t really here, knows he’s in heaven, or whatever. It’s an old-timey thing to visit graves so often like this, Steve thinks. Bucky used to visit his mother and father’s graves when he could, used to bring flowers on Sunday—cheap ones from the grocery store, since he was a depression-era kid at heart. Steve likes to think he’s honoring the tradition. He lays his discounted bodega bouquet down, relaxes back against the old wood bench and announces, “Well, he won’t shut up about getting a puppy. Or a dog, or whatever. Don’t know what to do about that. At least it’s not a cat he wants, right?” Bucky had _hated_ cats. Steve’s chuckle fizzles out, and he frowns at his hands where they’re folded in his lap. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But uh, anyways. …It’s serious now, with him. I… I love him.”

He sits, waits for some mystical sign. A change in the breeze or a bird crapping on his shoulder or something. It doesn’t come. Steve rolls his eyes at himself. “I uh, I’m working on being okay with that, you know. On getting over you.” He stares at Bucky’s headstone, imagining Bucky’s voice saying _“About damned time, punk.”_. 

“Don’t want to get over you,” he whispers. “‘Move on’. Sounds so wrong. Wish there was some other way to put it. My therapist just says ‘grow’. I need to ‘grow’.” He chuckles, mostly laughing at himself and how he’s having this conversation with a slab of chiseled limestone. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Old habits.”

Bucky says nothing back, of course, but Steve still feels a little bit better when he leaves the graveyard. 

.oOo.

That night on the couch, when they’re both stuffed from dinner and TJ is procrastinating doing his coursework by flipping through the dog adoption app, Steve gets himself ready and then says, “Okay, we can get one.”

TJ quirks an eyebrow, one eye still on his phone. “What?”

Steve braces himself. “We can get a dog.”

It’s quiet for two full seconds before TJ busts out smiling and shouting about how this is the best decision Steve’s ever made, how it’s going to be awesome and how Steve won’t have to do anything, TJ will be the best dog parent ever. He chucks his phone aside and jumps on Steve, assaulting him with hugs and kisses and excited rants about the three-legged chi-poo who is apparently the current frontrunner for their home. Steve acts disgruntled, but inside he soaks up TJ’s infectious happiness like a drug. Eventually he looks at the profile on the app and concedes to TJ that the dog is actually kind of cute, in a world-weary way.

Steve doesn’t know how he feels about collecting on sexual favors for agreeing to pet adoption, but TJ’s the one who instigates it, slipping off the couch and undoing the fly of his jeans with little fanfare. Steve’s lips part on the possibility of a “you don’t have to,” but before he can get the words out, TJ has his soft cock in hand and is licking at the head and fitting it into his mouth in an altogether pleasant way. 

Steve abandons his polite protest for a pleasured hum instead, relaxing back and widening his legs for TJ to get more situated. He does, smiling up at Steve and pulling off his mouthful, kissing Steve where he’s now wet and semi-hard. “Thank you,” he says up at him, still grinning like an idiot. 

Steve huffs a laugh and takes hold of himself, stroking slowly. “Are you sucking my dick because I did something nice for you, or because you want to suck my dick?” he asks wryly. 

TJ chews his lip, grins and says, “Both?”

Steve laughs, he can’t help it. He lets go of himself, grabs TJ by the jaw and bends over in his seat to reach him for a kiss. It’s wet and messy, but Steve keeps it brief. “Okay,” he says once they’ve parted and he’s relaxing back again. He flexes his thighs wide. “Come on then.”

TJ exhales harshly, eyes excited, and sinks back down. This time Steve’s hard enough that he takes him all the way in his mouth, going as far as he dares before wrapping his hand around the base and stroking him off in time with his sucking. 

Steve moans quietly and spreads his fingers through TJ’s hair. He murmurs something encouraging, then closes his eyes and lets his head tip back into the couch as he enjoys the blowjob. TJ’s gotten better in the time they’ve been together, has taken Steve’s guidance to heart, learned his preferences. Plus, the kid isn’t exactly uneager when it comes to sex of any kind. Between that and the way the serum affects Steve’s arousal, it doesn’t take TJ long to get him close. Steve grunts something out, he’s sure, tries and fails to warn him. Or maybe TJ just wants to feel him finish in his mouth.

The latter possibility gains credence, as Steve catches the dirty-pleased gleam in TJ’s eye as he swallows. Steve groans and hefts him up onto the couch. He intends to return the favor, but all they wind up doing is making out, then eventually going for the ice cream that’s been in the freezer since Tuesday.

.oOo.

As Steve is brushing his teeth in front of the mirror before bed, TJ asks him about all the old pills that are in his medicine cabinet. “S’like, a bajillion prescriptions in here,” he says. “They’re all yours.”

Steve spits and rinses, skipping flossing and going up to hug TJ from behind as he’s examining the bottles. “Yeah,” he tells him quietly, kissing his shoulder and allowing him to continue reading the labels. It’s about time TJ knew, anyway. “And if you dig back in the linen closet, I bet there’re old epi-pens and pairs of glasses, too. Inhalers, hearing aids. Probably a damn pack a’ diapers, somewhere.” He chuckles, though he can tell it doesn’t lighten the mood for TJ, who is confused. Steve tells him, “It’s okay, it’s all old.”

TJ turns around in his arms. “You were sick?” He’s got a little pinch between his eyebrows that Steve wants to thumb away. “Like, really sick?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I used to be a lot different. I was small. Five four, a hundred pounds soaking wet if you can believe it.” TJ’s look says that he can’t. Steve sighs and nods. Taking his hand, he leads him into the bedroom. “Sit,” he commands, pointing at the mattress. TJ sits and Steve goes and gets a few pictures from the photo album he keeps in the living room. He comes back and sits next to TJ, handing the pictures over. He watches him take it all in. “That’s me with my ma, when I was sixteen I think,” Steve says softly. “And that other one I snapped on Bucky and I’s… fourth date? I think? I’d just bought this old camera from the seventies I wanted to play around with and, well…” He scoffs a little at the pissed-off expression Bucky is giving the camera; a black a white photo that Steve did a poor job developing. So much for his vintage photography phase. “He never did like having his picture taken.”

“I can tell,” TJ says. “Steve… this is you?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“…How?”

“Bucky, he had this serum in him, you know? When he was experimented on by the people who held him captive, back during the war.” Steve runs a hand through the short hair at the back of his head as he thinks. “It made him stronger, bigger. It enhanced him.”

“You have a serum?”

Steve smiles a little at how goddamn fast TJ is, even with this. “Yeah. We dated for years before it. Then one summer I got pneumonia. Everybody thinks of it as a winter bug, but I swear it was the dead of August when I got sick. Got it bad and couldn’t shake it, and Bucky was really scared. He cut through some red tape and got me a dose of a serum like his. And ever since I’ve been healthy. And well… bigger,” Steve adds awkwardly. He waits, unsure what TJ’s reaction to this news is going to be. Is he going to be weirded out? Mad at being kept in the dark? Steve sits and waits, watches TJ thumb over the pictures. He starts to worry that he should have told TJ about this a long time ago. “Teej?” he eventually asks. 

“But it’s permanent,” TJ says, and he looks up at Steve, eyes searching. “You’re healthy now. You won’t get sick again?”

_Oh_. Steve’s worries dissolve in an instant, affection left in their place. He smiles and takes the pictures away from TJ, sets them aside. “Yeah honey,” he says, pulling him into his arms and hugging him. “Yeah, I promise. I’m healthy as a horse now. This is what you get.”

TJ nods against his shoulder and hugs him back, and when he speaks next, there’s no more pinched worry in his voice, which makes Steve happy. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad.”

“Mm,” Steve says, teasing. “Wouldn’t want to lose this big strong body, huh?”

TJ huffs and pinches him, but he doesn’t deny it, which makes Steve laugh at him and tease him all the more. They fall onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs and kisses, and eventually Steve winds up underneath. He looks up at TJ and tells him, “You know, you sleep in here almost every night. There’s room in the master closet, if you wanted to move some of your things over. Room for a toothbrush too, if I chuck those old pills.”

TJ’s eyes go wide, then he obviously tries to temper some of his reaction. He still smiles though. “Kay,” he says. He takes the photos and stands. “I’m gonna put these back, so they’re safe.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Steve watches him go with a fond flare in his heart. 

He’s changed into his pajamas by the time TJ returns, sitting on his side of the bed, facing the bedside table. There used to be a little framed picture of Bucky there, but Steve moved it to the living room when he and TJ started sleeping together. Now, Steve is sitting on the mattress with his hands in his lap. He’s pulled his wedding band off and is twirling it at the very tip of his ring finger, contemplating whether or not he should maybe stop wearing—

“No,” TJ says from the bedroom doorway. Steve looks up and catches his eye. TJ is frowning at him as he walks over, kneels on the carpet right in front of Steve. He covers Steve’s hand with his own, stopping his fidgeting. “Keep it on, Steve.”

Steve blinks at him, mildly surprised. He licks his lips, says, “I just thought maybe it was time. I thought you would’ve—”

“No,” TJ says again, this time more surely. He takes Steve’s hand and pushes the ring back down his finger, settling it in place. 

Steve feels something inside himself squeeze impossibly tight at the gesture. “Teej…”

“I don’t want you to get rid of the part of yourself that loved him,” TJ whispers, and when he looks up into Steve’s eyes, it’s like he’s pleading with him and reassuring him at the same time. “I just want you to make a new part that’s for me.” With that, and with Steve’s heart doing something that feels like breaking but is probably closer to healing, TJ tells him, “I know it’s hard, and like ten times as fucked up because I’m his… because I look like him; but when you think about it, the things you’re dealing with probably aren’t that different from what normal widowers deal with when they fall in love with someone new—” he freezes, eyes going wide when he realizes what he’s said. 

Steve stares at him for a heartbeat, then grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him up higher, pulls him against his body and kisses him. “TJ,” he says, “No, I do. I do love you, okay?” He hears TJ give a little gasp and knows right then and there that he’s been wrong not to say it before now. “Fuck,” he huffs, and he pulls TJ up on the bed, laying him out on his back and covering him with his body; hips between legs, forearms bracing, bracketing their faces so close together. “I love you,” he breathes, watching and waiting. TJ just seems to crumple up from happiness, and his eyes look suspiciously wet on the surface. Steve smiles down at him, thumbing the curve of his cheekbone. “You okay?” 

TJ nods happily, then his next rapid blink makes the tears break and run. Steve laughs and dips down to kiss them away, one side and then the other. 

“I love you, too,” TJ says, voice so quiet it’s more a vibration than a sound. His hands appear on Steve’s back, dipping under his tee shirt. “So much.”

Steve can’t take it then. He kisses TJ so soft and sweet and deep, kind of like an apology, because _goddamn_ TJ should’ve known this sooner, but also just as another way to connect them. They strip each other bare in the bed that night, and when Steve rocks inside his body and finds completion, he feels like he’s found that new part of himself that’s all for this. All for TJ.

.oOo. 

At some point in the night, Steve wakes. He’s got TJ in his arms and he smiles sleepily, kissing his head before unentangling himself to go take a piss. He walks to the kitchen naked, cringing from the cold of the refrigerator as he pulls out the Brita water jug and pours himself a glass. He drinks it in the dark, eyes only half open, then puts the jug back and heads in the direction of the bedroom. 

He’s about out of the living room when a shadow catches his eye, and any other night he might not notice, but for some reason he looks over in the direction of the piano where TJ normally sits and plays. “Teej?” He murmurs sleepily, confused because he knows he just left TJ in their bed. A terrible, creeping sensation goes up his spine, and then he looks again. 

He drops the glass of water, shock like he’s never felt in his life paralyzing him. 

It's Bucky who's straddling the piano bench, fingers trailing silently over the keys. He looks up at Steve almost shyly, lips quirking in the dark. “Heya Stevie.”


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March, 2020--41st floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan

Bucky tells him to sit down on the couch, which Steve does. 

He watches, feeling torn between hyperventilating and crying, as he watches Bucky go pick up the pieces of broken glass off the floor. He picks them up one by one, dropping them into his metal palm and taking them to the kitchen. Steve hears the dull-sharp clatter of it all hitting the bottom of the kitchen waste bin and he winces, feels like he’ll fly out of his skin until Bucky comes back.

When Bucky approaches him, his face looks drawn. Serious, worried maybe. He’s holding a tiny disk in his hand, showing it to Steve. Steve gives a shuddering exhale. “_Bucky_,” he croaks. “You’re—"

“This is an EMP,” Bucky says, voice forced calm like he used to make it when Steve was having an asthma attack. “Gonna put it here, okay?” He puts the disk-thingy on his metal arm, then presses it. Steve gasps as it zaps Bucky, the arm seizing and then falling limp at his side, and _no_, Steve doesn’t like that at all. His eyes shoot to Bucky’s face and he catches the tail end of his grimace. “Fuck,” Bucky hisses. “Ugh, those really do sting.” His eyes meet Steve’s. “That’ll last maybe twenty minutes,” he says. “Till I can explain and you maybe feel safe.”

“W-what?” Steve stutters. He feels like he could collapse. “Safe?” Why does he need to feel safe? Why wouldn’t he—

Bucky gives him a grim little smile. “Been away for a while, babe. With my propensity for being brainwashed, thought putting the arm outta commission might make you feel safer.” He seats himself on the coffee table facing Steve, their knees bumping, and it’s not near close enough. Steve wants to throw himself at Bucky, bury himself inside of him so that they’re just one person. He sits there though, stuck in place, maybe in shock.

Bucky reaches out with his right hand for Steve’s and Steve gives it limply. Then Bucky pulls the afghan throw off the back of the couch and wraps it around Steve’s naked bulk. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I tried to think of a better way to do this. There just wasn’t one. And I wanted to come to you first.”

Steve has questions, so many, but he can’t force any one of them past his lips. Instead he blinks, and then all of a sudden tears are spilling down his cheeks and he knows he couldn’t speak if he tried. He winds up throwing himself forward, half off the couch and into Bucky’s good arm. Bucky grunts and catches him, holds him against his chest as Steve pretty much breaks down. 

“_Why?!_” Steve cries, gasps, every breath coming out of him on a shivering sob. “B-bucky, Bucky, _god_. Why?”_How? _ he wants to say, but doesn’t manage. He stops talking, just cries hot tears against Bucky’s shoulder and _feels_ him underneath his hands. Steve grips him so tight. He never thought he’d get to feel him again. “_Bucky, Bucky!_”

“Shhh,” Bucky’s saying, holding him with his one arm and petting his back. He kisses at the side of Steve’s head, over and over, waiting him out. “S’okay, Stevie. S’gonna be okay. I’m here. I’m here now.”

Steve cries and Bucky holds him through it, and it might last an hour for all Steve knows. Eventually Steve calms enough that Bucky moves and gets them both settled comfortably on the couch, holding Steve against his side with his good arm. He’s still got Steve’s face pressed against his chest, and he kisses his hair and asks, “Can you talk yet?” Steve sniffs and nods, changes his mind and shakes his head. Bucky offers, “You want me to talk first?”

“Where _were_ you?” Steve whispers, because he’s afraid if he speaks any louder, he’ll start to sob again. He feels completely unstable, like he’ll have a nervous breakdown any second and Bucky’s body against his is the only thing preventing it. “What happened?”

“I escaped,” Bucky says.

Steve shakes his head again, a couple more tears escaping. He’s so happy. So happy to have Bucky in his arms and yet so upset. He can’t stop crying. He feels devastated. He realizes that he’s clinging to Bucky—hands digging into the fabric of his shirt like a frightened child with their blanket. He doesn’t care, just digs further, clings tighter and whispers. “I don’t understand.”

Bucky pets his back from over the blanket and quietly explains, “I took care of the ones who had me, but there were others. Entrenched all over the world. I had to be sure, Steve. Do you understand?” Bucky’s fingers dig in roughly against Steve’s shoulder. “I couldn’t have another van showing up for me somewhere down the line. I had to be sure.”

Steve shivers, feels small all over again. “I saw you die,” he whispers. Even as he says it, he can see it in his mind, clear as day. It makes him screw up his face in a wince. “I saw you. They… they sh-shot you. It was…” He swallows, remembering the mess against the car window, Bucky’s profile and pieces of things he didn’t want to think about hitting the glass. “Blood,” he just winds up whispering, feeling lost.

“No, doll. They shot me, yeah, but there was another guy too. He blunted the shot. He’s the one who bit it bad in that van.” He chuckles, darkly amused. “I recovered.” 

For some reason, Bucky’s small laugh ignites something in Steve, pissing him off. He pulls back, gaining space. He knows his face is screwed up at Bucky, but he can’t help it. 

Bucky notices the change in him, and he sobers. “Come on now, doll.”

“You were dead,” Steve says. “We had your funeral. We… I _buried_ you.” His eyes flick over Bucky, wild. 

“Don’t know what you buried,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve glares at him. “How long till you escaped them, then? The men in the van. How long was it until you got free from them?” 

Bucky looks at him warily. “Honey…”

“Tell me!” Steve has to know, because he’s been mourning Bucky for two years, but now he’s sitting right here in front of him and from what Bucky’s saying… from what he’s saying it sounds like…

“…A week,” Bucky says, looking like he’s dreading Steve’s reaction. 

He’s right to dread it. Steve shoots up to standing, one hand flying to his own hair and raking through it. “What?!”

“Shh, babe,” Bucky hushes, eyes flying anxiously to the hallway. “You’ll wake him up.”

Steve ignores that. He grasps the afghan weakly about his hips with one hand, gesturing angrily with the other when Bucky stands and steps close to him, trying to hold him again. Steve fights it, saying, “You’ve been out there, able to contact me the whole time?”

“_No_, I wasn’t,” Bucky hisses. He grabs Steve’s shoulder, tugging him in. His metal arm twitches but is unable to move yet. “I _told_ you: I had to make sure they were all gone.”

“No!” Steve shouts, jerking, trying to fight him off as if it’ll change his words, change the situation. He’s furious, red hot, can’t think beyond the thought that Bucky’s been out there in the world all this time, free, and hasn’t come back to him. “You could’ve called, you could’ve written!” he hisses, tears coming back to his eyes despite his anger. “You could’ve done _anything_!” He hits Bucky, but Bucky just takes it, pushing in closer to Steve rather than pulling away. Steve sobs.

“I couldn’t—”

“You let me go on thinking you were gone. Forever!” Steve’s sagged against Bucky’s body and he swats at his back, but he’s losing momentum because Bucky just keeps on fucking soothing him.

“Stevie, please,” he says. “Please calm down.”

Steve meets his eyes with burning hot tears slipping down his cheeks. “Do you have _any_ idea what that did to me? Any idea what it was like? _Do_ you?!”

Bucky looks utterly pained and helpless. The plates in his metal arm whir sadly. “You have to let me explain,” he says, but Steve doesn’t want to hear it. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

“I _loved_ you!” he yells. “How could you do this to me?!”

“I didn’t—”

“…Steve?”

Everything freezes at the sound of TJ’s voice. Steve feels his body lock up in terror. _Oh, no._ He turns around, and there’s TJ standing at the end of the hallway, naked save for a pair of boxers slung low on his hips. Hilariously, Steve’s first thought is for Bucky, a panicked, _He doesn’t know about TJ and me!_. 

But Bucky speaks up from behind Steve, saying, “Wow, he really does look like me.”

“Oh…my god,” TJ says, visibly paling even in the dim light. “Oh my god.”

“TJ, it’s okay,” Steve says. He really does feel like he could faint. “Shit.”

“That’s—” TJ points weakly in Bucky’s direction. “He’s… Steve?” TJ looks plaintively at Steve. “What’s going on?”

Steve winces and rushes over to TJ, pulling him close. He feels like he needs to shield TJ from Bucky, or maybe Bucky from TJ, maybe both. He doesn’t know what the hell to do. “You’re safe,” is what he winds up saying. “He won’t hurt you. He’s…” Steve glances back over his shoulder to see Bucky. Bucky, who’s taking in the sight of Steve holding TJ in his arms quite keenly. Steve feels guilt overtake him. “Come on,” Steve murmurs. “Let’s get you back to bed. I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta figure this out.”

“What?!” TJ exclaims, wiggling out of Steve’s grasp. He’s not devastatingly upset like Steve is, is the thing. He looks over at Bucky, amazement on his face, but no fear. “_Steve,_ I am _not_ going to bed! What the fuck is going on?!”

Steve winces, trying and failing to corral TJ again. He’s struggling to keep the stupid afghan around his waist and really wishes he hadn’t walked out to the kitchen butt ass naked. “I can explain,” he starts,

“He—is this _real_? He’s back?”

“Yes,” Bucky says.

TJ’s whole face is painted in astonishment. “This is… this is amazing!”

Bucky’s lips twist in what might be amusement, which just pisses Steve off more. He points at his late husband. “Don’t you dare smile. I’ll kill you.”

“He’s not freaked out at all,” Bucky says to Steve. “It’s a little amusing.”

Steve gives him his best murder glare. “Shut up.” He turns to TJ, who has stepped further into the room and is circling Bucky from a distance. “TJ, come on. At least let’s put some clothes on, okay?”

TJ looks at him, then looks down at himself. He blinks. “Oh.”

Bucky snorts.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Steve says. He takes TJ by the arm and steers him—half-stumbling, because TJ can’t stop looking over his shoulder at the assassin standing in the living room—back to the bedroom.

.oOo.

“Jarvis, make us some coffee?” Steve says in a tired voice. 

It’s still the middle of the night but Steve has given up on getting any kind of sleep. The living room lights are on full, now. Bucky’s back to sitting on the piano bench, and Steve and TJ are clothed, a safe distance away on the couch. Nobody seems to know what to say. In the kitchen, the coffee machine can be heard whirring to life.

Steve sighs and puts his face in his hands. He feels drained and directionless. There’re too many options for how to react here and his brain just can’t seem to choose one. First had been shock. Disbelief and _joy_, then ache and sadness and yet more joy. Then anger, betrayal. Joy again. Anger. Tears the whole damned way. 

And it’s only been forty minutes, Steve realizes when he glances at the clock. Fuck.

He swipes an exhausted palm over his face, trying to rouse himself. _Maybe if this had happened in the daytime_, he thinks, when his circadian rhythm was more prepared for it. Maybe he’d be processing this better if Bucky had shown up when he was fully awake and alone, no TJ present to complicate things. Steve works his jaw in frustration at his ex-late-husband. _Why couldn’t he have shown up at the cemetery or something?_

Bucky always was a drama queen, in his own way.

The keys on the far end of the piano sound; one, then two deep notes, then a dragged-out combination of several. Steve looks up from his hand, glaring at Bucky. Bucky removes his hand from the keys. He gives Steve a ‘sorry’ look. Steve looks away. Fucking hell, the tears are threatening again, right there at the backs of his eyes. He grits his teeth and wills them not to come. 

“Okay,” TJ eventually says, when the tension between the three of them is too much to bear. “So… Bucky’s alive.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. 

Maybe he sounds as helpless as he feels, because the next thing he knows, TJ is leaning in against his side and whispering in his ear, “Do you want me to go? So you two can, um…”

“You don’t have to go,” Bucky says. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been sleeping together.”

TJ gapes and Steve scowls at Bucky’s bluntness. “How long have you been surveilling us, then?” he snaps, thinking of the shifted boxes in the closet that he’d blamed TJ for. Knowing his husband, Steve has no doubt that Bucky has been in the apartment before now, snooped around, maybe planted cameras or microphones or something. _Goddamn paranoid Soviet spies_. “How long have you been planning to come back?” 

Bucky gives him a sad smile. “I was always planning to come back, babe.”

“No!” Steve huffs. He stands up, points at Bucky angrily. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to be all calm and composed. You don’t get to show up after two years and call me ‘babe’ and look at me like I’m overreacting.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything back to that, which Steve knows is his way of disagreeing. He glances over Steve’s shoulder to TJ, who’s still sitting on the couch. He looks back at Steve. “You want me to go?”

Steve gapes. “What?”

“Do you want me to—”

“_NO_, I don’t want you to go! Are you fucking nuts?!” He reaches up and rakes his hands through his hair, pacing in place. “I… I just…” He wants to tie Bucky up in the apartment and never let him move freely again, is what he wants to do.

In the kitchen, the coffee machine gives an audible shudder and stops percolating. TJ shoots to his feet. “I’ll get us some, ah, some coffee.” 

He disappears, and even though the kitchen’s mostly open to the living room, the small distance gives Steve the false sense of privacy he needs to approach Bucky. He walks over and stands in front of him at the piano bench. He’s so _mad_, but all he really wants to do is fall into Bucky’s arms again, kiss him until his face goes numb from it. “How could you?” he asks, feeling betrayed. 

Bucky reaches for his hand, waiting for Steve to give it before saying, “If you or anyone else knew I was alive, it could’ve put the mission at risk.”

“Why does everything have to be a mission with you?”

“I _had_ to get rid of them, once and for all. Had to wipe out my past. Stevie, the life I wanted to live with you… I had to make sure they were completely gone.”

“You could’ve called,” Steve argues again, but Bucky just clams up and looks away.

“No.”

Steve yanks his hand back, furious. Clearly, they’re never going to agree on that point. “And now?” he hisses. “What are we supposed to do now?” It’s clear he’s talking about TJ, who is still in the kitchen. About the fucked-up love triangle they’re now faced with. “I hate that you did this!” Steve hisses.

“You want me to go?”

“Stop _saying_ that.”

TJ comes back into the room, two mugs in hand. He gives one to Steve and looks awkwardly at Bucky. “Um, I don’t know how you take yours,” he says. “There’s more in the pot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says. 

Not for the first time, Steve doesn’t notice how there’s no malice in how Bucky’s addressing TJ, even though by now they all know the full situation—That Steve and TJ are together, sleeping in the same bed that Bucky used to occupy. _This is so fucked_, Steve thinks, feeling weary. Suddenly, he has no desire to drink the coffee TJ’s just handed him. He wants to go to bed, be unconscious. Preferably with both TJ _and_ Bucky in the bed with him. And how messed up is that? he asks himself. 

“Does anyone else know?” he asks, mug held weakly in his hands. He sees Bucky shake his head. “Nobody? Not even Natasha? Fury?” Steve finds that hard to believe, but Bucky shakes his head again.

“You first, Stevie. Always.”

Steve grits his teeth so that tears won’t break through again. He’s supposed to be mad, right? He glances at the ceiling. “Jarvis?”

“_Sergeant Barnes is aware of my protocols, Sir_”. Jarvis says. “_He overrode several of them, but I will have to activate a tower-wide lockdown if Mr. Stark is not made aware of the security breach in the next thirty-seven minutes._”

Steve looks at Bucky, surprised that Bucky could actually hack anything related to Jarvis. Bucky smirks a little, as if he’s proud of this accomplishment. He should be, but Steve isn’t going to let him feel good about it right now. He just says, “Well you’d better get going, unless you want this all to be splashed on the morning news when it gets out why Stark Tower isn’t letting anybody in or out.”

Bucky nods. He gets up from the piano bench, straightening himself out and brushing his once again shoulder-length hair—Steve’s heart aches at the reminder of how much time has passed—behind his ears. “You’ll come?” he asks Steve, looking hopeful.

Steve stalls though, glancing back to TJ. He’s in his pajamas, coffee cradled in hand and socked feet curled up under himself. Steve doesn’t want to leave him, but TJ gives him a brave smile that’s not even really a smile and says, “Go on. I’ll be here.”

Steve’s heart squeezes. “Don’t leave the apartment,” he says, somewhat pleading.

“I won’t.”

Steve still hates to leave, but he can’t bear the thought of letting Bucky out of his sight right now, so he goes with the less awful of two options and takes Bucky’s hand when he offers it, going with him to announce what’s happened.

.oOo. 

Tony is surprisingly… bearable, in his reaction. Maybe because Steve and Bucky arrive in the middle of the night to tell him (and Pepper, since she winds up being there as well). Maybe Tony needs daylight and coffee, like Steve, to be at his best. 

The team is assembled the next morning, and Bucky walking through the door is enough of an explanation as to why they’re there. There are a lot of stifled curses and open-mouthed looks of shock, but Natasha and Pepper manage to keep it down to business with their attitudes and questions. Nat mainly asks about possible threats that could’ve followed Bucky back home. Bucky assures her they’ve all been eliminated. If Steve isn’t mistaken, he thinks that Natasha is pissed off at Bucky. She remains quiet though, after Bucky convinces her that there will be no more men in black coming for them. The men in black are all dead. 

Pepper wants to know if there is any evidence lying around anywhere, anything that could create bad press for Bucky or the other avengers. Bucky assures her that the public will never know what he did to the men in black. Horrible things, Steve ascertains from the few details Bucky gives, but all over now. Pepper is satisfied by this, and with both her and Natasha done talking, the room explodes with Tony and Rocket’s questions.

.oOo.

Three days. Three days of Bucky being alive again and it’s not anything like what Steve used to fantasize about when he’d think of Bucky coming back from the dead. It seems that they’ve screamed and cried it all out, leaving nothing but an empty, unsure space between them. 

Bucky had backed him up against a wall on the second day, kissing him like he was trying to snap him out of it. And Steve had kissed back, had felt that heat start to consume him. Bucky was _alive_, he’d thought, hands flying over those shoulders, that body, that regrown hair; learning the feel of him in his arms all over again. He was alive and he was _real_ and he was right there. Steve had moaned and given into the hot embrace, overwhelmed, before Bucky had started to try and pull his clothes off.

Then Steve had shoved away and backed out to the room with wide eyes and a confused apology on the tip of his tongue. “I—I can’t…” he’d stuttered, feeling at odds with himself even as the words left his mouth. 

He knows now, why. He would’ve fallen straight into bed with Bucky. Because he’s still just as in love with him as the day he disappeared. No surprise there. 

But now there’s TJ, and Steve has had _two_ panic attacks about it, has locked himself in the bathroom and sat alone on the closed lid of the toilet and tried to convince himself that he doesn’t really love TJ after all. But he can’t. Because it isn’t true. He loves TJ, and he loves Bucky, and they’re both _right there_. And Steve doesn’t know what the hell to do.

.oOo.

“Pepper says there’ll have to be a press conference,” Bucky says. “But not until I want clearance to leave the tower.” He doesn’t look at Steve as he says it. He knows Steve is listening. He also knows Steve is mad at him, but Bucky seems to be okay with that and is giving Steve space to process.

Steve isn’t sure if that pisses him off more or not. ‘Space’ right now is Bucky on the armchair rather than on the couch with him. He makes a quiet noise in his throat at Bucky’s pronouncement, not looking away from his laptop. “Good,” he says. 

Bucky sighs after a few more minutes of silence between them. “I don’t know what to do here, Stevie,” he murmurs, and when Steve peeks over at him, he sees that Bucky’s got his knees spread wide, arms braced on them and his back slumped. “Just tell me what I can do to make this better.”

Steve winces. “…I don’t know.”

“Do wish I’d stayed dead?”

Steve glares at him. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Bucky nods, mulls his next question over, then asks “…Do you still want to be with me?”

Steve knows the answer to that is a resounding yes, and he can tell from the way Bucky locks eyes with him right then, that Bucky knows that too. They’re both still wearing their wedding bands. Steve opens his mouth to say, “Of course, Jerk,” or something like it, but before he can get the words out he catches sight of TJ lingering in the doorway, looking sad and confused. “Teej,” Steve says, moving to stand up. 

“It’s okay,” TJ blurts out, stepping forward. He shakes his head at Steve, waving off his attention as he passes by, headed for the apartment’s doors. He’s dressed in sneakers and workout clothes. “I understand. You two have history. He’s your husband.”

“TJ, please. Hang on a minute.”

“I’m going to the gym,” TJ says. He doesn’t even look at Steve or Bucky. “See you later.”

Steve feels like shit as the door shuts behind TJ. He rakes a hand through his hair, debates getting up and going after him. “He never goes to the gym,” he mutters, knowing that TJ’s just looking for an excuse to get away from the tension in the apartment.

“Gotta give him time,” Bucky says.

Steve scoffs. “Time for what? To be okay with this?” Bucky is silent and Steve sighs wearily. “What the hell are we gonna do, Buck?”

Bucky is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaanngst!


End file.
